


Legato

by HazelL



Category: Strawberry Panic!
Genre: F/F, Fluff and Angst, Music, Post-Anime, Romance, mentions of past relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-09-26 09:33:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 23,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17139341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HazelL/pseuds/HazelL
Summary: Legato : music without breaks between notes. Smooth and connected.Set seven years after the anime. In order to save her shattered relationship with Nagisa, Shizuma accepts to work as permanent conductor in an orchestra. There, she will find the meaning of the word legato.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Astrae kind of moved across the globe because reasons. I lived in Japan but seriously, I don't think I know enough to do the country justice. It doesn't change anything to the story though, I kept everything else the same.
> 
> I don't own Strawberry Panic.

 

Chapitre Un

_Again._

_Watch the balance._

_Yes... bassoons... slow down... like that... yes, that's it..._

Her smooth movement were flawlessly matched by the strings. Eyes closed, the baton between her thumb and index was engaged in a languorous dance. The movements of her arms were swift and concise, yet carrying all the preciseness and clarity of the most demonstrative conductors. Wide gestures and exaggerated expressions were not needed when  _she_ was conducting. The only thing that mattered is that the musicians understood. The stillness of her posture as well as the apparent serenity of her face were only disturbed by the lightest of frowns that would appear sometimes. Right now though, nothing was betraying the epitome of composure standing before a hundred musicians and leading them like one and only man as they played louder and louder to reach the crescendo of the grand finale.

_Yes... this is it! Almost... perfec... argh!_

"Stop."

Her voice was low and quiet so that she wouldn't startle them out of their focus. Shouting was a useless and very noisy way of asserting one's superiority. She had decided, long ago, to leave it for other (mostly male) conductors. Her presence was assertive enough.

As expected, her quiet but firm interruption reached the musicians. Quiet murmurs rose among them, some casting her curious looks. Her eyes were still closed, the lazy smile on her face the only indication that she had acknowledged their presence. Deceptively casual, but highly attentive.

_Mmhm... oboes... yes oboes._

She finally opened her eyes. The room fell to an immediate silence at the sight of them. It was a demanding stare, of course, just like she was. Yet, it held no haughtiness, no the condescension that was to be expected from a conductor. The kind of look that would remind them every time where was their place and  _who_  was the boss. Her gaze conveyed a quiet assurance instead, the one that cajoled the musicians, enveloped them in this bubble of certainty she always drew around the orchestras she led. This force that pulled them to her and pushed them to respond to her every whim without questions.

She scanned the oboe section with a deliberate slowness until she reached her target.  _Ah…_  a very cute target _._

"Oboe number two?" she called softly.

"Y-yes?" a surprised and high-pitched voice answered.

"Why did you stop playing before the finale?"

The question startled everybody by its honesty. It held no judgment. The tilt of her head made her curiosity look almost childlike and innocent. Not a single conductor they had worked with so far had been able to notice something as insignificant as that.

The oboist felt the heat spread and flush her cheeks, out of shame mostly, but also of bliss to be finally addressed to,  _personally_. Her answer was a stuttering quivering mess, "M-my finger slipped and I lost the flow... a-and I thought stopping would be the best thing to do... as I… I did not want to…" she cleared her throat, leaving the rest of the sentence hang in the air.

Another smile.  _Cute._  "Now is the time you to prepare for the concert, don't worry about losing the flow. It is called practice for a reason, yes?"

"Y-yes."

"Then, don't stop playing...  _ever,_ " her statement was meant for the oboist as much as for the orchestra. When their eyes met again, she smirked. The other looked down quickly.

Very cute indeed.

The conductor blinked, a focused expression replacing the smile she had been sporting a second earlier. She lifted her arms, signaling for the musicians to get ready. "Let's start again. Beginning of the third movement."

She cast another look at the oboe player, more discreet and confidential this time, before smiling at the musicians to them start.

That glance, no matter how fleeting and furtive it had been, was not innocent. Oh, it was not. Because Shizuma Hanazono was everything but innocent. It meant something, something that the female musician understood quickly. She had seen it before, though it was the first time it was directed at her.

It could be summarized in four words:  _You... Me... Bed... Tonight._

-0-

" _...and yesterday, the Bolshoi Theatre reached the stars as the national orchestra of the theatre delivered a stunning performance. Its interpretation of The Force of Destiny of Verdi was simply astonishing. The merits can for sure, be attributed to their guest conductor, the twenty-five-year-old music prodigy Shizuma Hanazono, who once again demonstrated the extent of her talent in a very moving yet strong performance. The walls of the theatre, as well as the few privileged ears that had the opportunity to attend the series of concerts will remember those faithful nights, when a foreigner restored the Bolshoi's long-lost glory. Ms. Hanazono will be dearly missed."_

The words were carefully pronounced in flawless English with that endearing Russian accent Shizuma came to appreciate over the months. "He is literally eating from your hand," the admiration did not go unnoticed, neither did the twinkling of those electric blue eyes as they glanced at her. "You are amazing."

" _Spassiba,_ Ekaterina." Shizuma smiled broadly at the translator who had been following her like a shadow for the past two months. Silent and complying, but highly competent. Just the way she liked them. Her smile turned into a devious smirk.

" _Nié za chto_ ," Ekaterina returned the smile, completely oblivious. "So you have finally learned a few words? I'm glad."

Shizuma shook her head slightly, both to answer and a subtle way to get her mind back from its lubricious haven. "I'm afraid not," she took a sip of her tea. "Only the usual. Yes, no, thank you…Oh! And curses!" Her eyes shined as she recalled a certain event taking place a few days ago during the taxi ride back to the hotel. "Do Russians ever say anything without cursing?"

The translator chuckled, "It's already a miracle that none of your musicians got drunk before the concert," And it was true.

Whether it was out fear, kindness, or a newfound sense of professionalism, they had all remained sober for the duration of each concert, not even trying to sneak a drop during the entr'acte. It was an achievement in itself, but only Ekaterina understood the extent of their sacrifice.

She added in a giggle, "Not cursing would be like giving up part of us! You're asking too much here."

Her enthusiastic humor was infectious. "I guess you're right then, "Shizuma took the piece of chocolate that had been shamelessly ogling at her for the past three minutes.

The blonde woman smiled fondly at the sight.  _Just like a child_.

"So, what are you planning to do now? Any project?"

She mulled the question over, chewing on the chocolate slowly.

"I guess... maybe I will go back where I belong..."  _Nagisa must be missing me_.

The thought of her sent chills to Shizuma's spine, and they were not pleasant kind.  _I wonder how I will find the house when I am back_... if there is still a house _,_ that is _._ The last time her soon-to-be-designer girlfriend had decided to 'touch-up' the exterior of their house had been… an absolute disaster. Nagisa had developed a liking for 'little cute things' as she called them, over the years, which had turned into an obsessive compulsion lately. Her last accomplishment had been to turn Shizuma's beloved garden into a war zone of fluff and heart-shaped plastic… things.

"Yes, I guess I will go back home," she said in a sigh.

-0-

The flight to London was uneventful; most of it was spent sleeping. Shizuma thanked the blushing stewardess for her top-notch services, sending her off with a seductive smile as she left. She bought a fruit pie for Nagisa and another chocolate bar before hailing a taxi to go home.

As she stood there, Shizuma counted her blessings: there was still a front door, Nagisa hadn't messed up with it just yet.  _She must be home, it is seven past five_. After a long, steadying breath, she reached for the knob.

"I am ho-"  _Ouch, my retinas!_ She shut her eyes then opened them again. "Oh my..." blinking one, twice, three times to get used to the aggressive color.

"Honey!" Nagisa's voice called from the kitchen.

Shizuma winced at the pet name. Over-the-top cheesiness didn't suit her. It never did. Pet names were ridiculous, everything about them was ridiculous. She had never understood the appeal. It was cringy at best, gag-inducing at worst. Nagisa had made it a habit once their relationship grew, and the woman never had the heart to tell her how stupid she thought it was.  _Joke's on me._

Her girlfriend's handiwork was something... Shizuma observed a minute's silence for her botched wallpaper.

"Hey," Nagisa rounded the corner, giving her a smile, arms came up to circle the woman's neck in a hug. "I missed you."

Shizuma smiled with closed lips, giving her a quick peck. "I'm home."

With Nagisa's head buried in her neck as they embraced for a long while, Shizuma had all the leisure to frown and scowl. Fifteen minutes later, and she still wasn't having it with the new wallpaper; the redhead had some explaining to do.

"Nagisa?"

"Mmhm?"

"What is this?" she pointed the walls with her chin.

"Oh! You like it? It is great isn't it? I thought I would give fresh up the hall. Adds more light to it, doesn't it?"

"Well, it's... pink."

Neon pink. Not pale. Not salmon. Not pastel. Not anything that would be remotely acceptable by any standards.

"Yes! It matches the ceiling! Look!"

And that was what finished her off. Shizuma never argued with Nagisa about her interior design frenzy. She never even discussed it. In fact, the woman was genuinely supportive, a few years back, happy to see her girlfriend develop her artistic side. Until Shizuma discovered the ugly truth; they were absolutely not compatible. Their tastes were at odds, and what they deemed acceptable or even pleasant to the eye was on completely different spectrums.

She bit her tongue.  _Shh. Don't say a word. Calm down... easy, easy... calm down... yes like that._

"Okay, then," was all she said before going to the kitchen, "I will cook dinner," she had become an expert at deflection, a skill mastered over the years.

Nagisa did not follow right away, glancing the purple ceiling with a critical eye before smiling contently. It looked nice, okay?

"How was your trip?" she padded to the kitchen and sat on a high chair in front of the worktop where Shizuma was preparing the meat.

The woman looked up from what she was doing. "It was... interesting." a certain flutist came to mind; not as skilled with her tongue as she was with her instrument, sadly.  _We can't have it both ways, can we?_ She smirked at the thought. "Yes, really interesting. Russians will never stop to amaze me."

She observed the knife block with attention before picking one. You can't cook good meals without good tools, her father's words echoed.

"How about you? How was school?"

Nagisa had one more year to do before graduating in Interior Design. How she had managed to get that far was truly a mystery to Shizuma. She just lacked… well, everything really. It didn't make sense.

"They are getting us ready for midterms now. Everybody is stressing out. Oh, and Tamao and I went shopping tod—you should careful with that, Shizuma." she pointed at the knife that had nearly sliced her girlfriend's nail in half.

Shizuma slowed her pace "Do you have so little faith in me?" the flush on Nagisa's cheeks made her grin.

"N-no it's not that. I-I mean… you always take care of your hands. I would feel bad if you hurt yourself."

That was enough to make her pause, she put the knife down to inspect her hands. Nagisa was right. If there's something she had always taken great care of, it was her hands. The creams, balms, and other cosmetic products in their bathroom were proof enough. It was primordial, as a pianist before and now a conductor. Her hands were the first thing the musicians would focus on during a concert. They deserved top-notch treatment, they were her working tools after all, right?

The thought made her smile.

Yes, they were her working tools, but for more...  _leisurely_  activities, they became the instruments of miracles

The pang of desire when her eyes landed on Nagisa after that was… unexpected, if not a bit strange. How long had it been since she had felt that way? A year? Two? When was the last time? Of course, it didn't hold a candle to how she used to feel in the first months of their relationship. That burning passion running through her veins, the incredibly powerful force rushing in, pulling her to Nagisa. Passion.

Not love.

Alas, before Shizuma had the time to talk herself out of it, her petulant rebellious and  _passionate_  self was already halfway down the alley in the crowded church of Astrea Hill, shouting her eternal infatuation to the girl. A pity, really.

Look, it wasn't that she did not care about Nagisa; she did. She cared a lot. More than any of her former conquests (Kaori was in another category whatsoever.) There were things she used to love about her, but… she wasn't in love. Or at least, it didn't feel like she was. It didn't feel like how being 'in love' should feel. Not that she had anything to compare it to, really; Kaori had passed away before they could sit down and have a heart-to-heart about it. But she knew how she used to feel towards Nagisa, and if this was love, then love was boring. Passion was better. It was powerful, it was tangible.

It was ephemeral. It was meant to die.

Shizuma should have left a long, long time ago, instead of just checking out of the relationship.

That last thought achieved to sour her mood, leaving her with a budding headache.

"What are you cooking?" Nagisa, little Nagisa, oblivious Nagisa, was completely absorbed by her dexterity, observing the rhythmic slicing like some grandiose spectacle. Her train of thoughts took a left, landing in fantasy-land as she gave her full attention to Shizuma's fingers. The blush coloring her cheeks was unmissable.

It made the other frown. Such an innocuous activity did not warrant getting red-faced like a blushing virgin. Then again, over the years, Nagisa had proven to flush over the most insignificant things. Shizuma had found it absolutely endearing at first, how her girlfriend would be blushing over the naked slop of her breast covered a thin shirt. That was nice. Cute, even. But after seven years, it was no longer cute to have Nagisa on the verge of passing out every time Shizuma walked in the room wearing underwear. This thing she used to like had turned into an irrational annoyance, something she hoped Nagisa would change, so far without success.

"Pasta Bolognese," she said, with added flourish and a convincing Italian accent.

Nagisa's eyes lit up, she smiled widely. "It's my favorite dish!"

"I know."

-0-

It was a surprise for Shizuma to wake up in her own bed, the following day. It was even more surprising to have Nagisa comfortably snuggled against her as her foggy brain tried to make sense of what had happened yesterday before she fell head first on the pillow and passed out.

Came back from Russia, check. Shizuma couldn't help but sigh a little; it was a good trip, she ought to have stayed longer.

Emerging from sleep had never been an easy feat to her, but breakfast always helped. She made it with Nagisa, only half listening to her girlfriend's happy humming until they sat down.

"I almost forgot!" the redhead said while chewing her toast. "They called again."

"They?" Shizuma paused with a grape halfway to her mouth. Her brain supplied the information a moment later. "Oh, the orchestra. Same thing again?"

"They said they really would like to have a meeting with you, if you'd give them five minutes of your time."

Same thing again. She hummed halfheartedly, popping the grape in her mouth.

"Why don't you give it a try?" Nagisa asked after a while.

She had kept silent, observing Shizuma's little ritual of marmalade spread-toast and tea, with the wild hope her girlfriend would say something, but nope. She was perfectly content eating and sipping her tea without a care in the world.

"Because I am fine with the way things are now." Shizuma said, eyes focused on her toast.

"But what if I am not fine with it?"

The woman blinked. "Nagisa..." the underlying irritation in her voice was almost palpable. "We've already talked about this."

Despite not wanting to brusque her so early in the morning, the redhead had done exactly that. She kept pushing nevertheless, leaving her own breakfast aside as she folded her hand on the table.

"Yes, I know. But it's hard when you just disappear like that for months. I'm all alone here and it's hard," she tried, she really did, but her voice still quivered a little when she spoke.

"Alone? Nagisa, everybody is here," her eyes betrayed her annoyance. That was it; she was not a morning person. She had never been, and it wasn't like Nagisa wasn't aware of it. Nagisa  _knew._ And still, Nagisa was bringing up topics that needed more than Shizuma's two and a half functioning brain cells to be discussed.

" _You_. You aren't here, Shizuma."

"Because I am working Nagisa. And it means I must go."

"That's not true," the redhead bit her lip before blurting it out, "It's not that you must. You want to go. Why do you always do that?" for all the scenarios she had made up in her head on how this could go down, she hadn't planned on crying. And yet here she was, on the verge of tears. "Is it me? Is it my fault that you need to run off the country as soon as you can?"

Oh, no. No, no, no, Shizuma did not want to get on this path now. It was extremely slippery. It demanded finesse and carefully chosen words. Things her sleepy brain couldn't proceed because… well, it was still early, okay?

"This has  _nothing_  to do with you. It is my own choice Nagisa, my own." she put the toast down, wiping her mouth with a napkin. A perfectly poised exterior, yet her mind was reeling. She was being cornered and it wasn't fair. It was not fair at all.

Her decision to decline offers as permanent conductor in England or elsewhere hadn't been motivated by her tendency to avoid Nagisa. She did not want to be artistically chained somewhere, is all. Shizuma needed her freedom. And the fact that she would often... always fool around with random musicians all over the world was just a side effect. That's how she rationalized it. Only a side effect. Something Shizuma could stop whenever she wanted, she just didn't want to _._

When tears finally fell from Nagisa's eyes, she realized her answer might have needed a bit more tact. Out of instinct, she reached for the redhead's face, but her hand was slapped away.

"Nagisa..."

Hiccups and sniffing were her only answer. "I-if, if..." Nagisa took a long shaky breath to try and steady herself. "If you..." another breath. "Shizuma, do it for me. Please."

Her two and a half functioning brain cells were sending distressed calls now. A crying girlfriend early in the morning was perfect recipe for disaster. Shizuma couldn't stand the sight of it; even if she was the reason it happened to begin with.

Nagisa sniffed again, lip quivering as she said, "If...you love me, Shizuma, give it a try. Just a try. I am not asking much, am I?"

And that was enough to make her waver.

"I..." the words were stuck at the back of her throat.

Part of her was screaming to tell Nagisa off, because the redhead had no right to just… demand things like that. They had discussed it already, at length. They had an agreement. She wasn't playing fair with all the begging and the tears. The other part was imploring her to try and patch things up.

"Fine," and she listened. "Fine," Shizuma repeated, louder, but apparently the other hadn't heard and was still sobbing. "Nagisa, I will do it. Please, stop crying."

It took a good while for the words to reach the redhead. A time Shizuma took to kiss her freedom goodbye and hang herself with her own hair.

"R-r... really? tears were still falling down her cheeks, but her voice was already more joyful.

"Yes, really," it felt like she had just made a big mistake. "I will call them back... give me two days. Two days and I will meet with them—"

The rest of her sentence was swallowed by Nagisa quite literally flinging herself across the table. Shizuma had just the time to catch her before the momentum threw them both on the floor with a thud.

_Ouch._

"I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you…"

Shizuma's face was being covered in kisses. Nagisa's relentlessness made her sigh deeply. A sigh her girlfriend mistook for something else entirely, she caught her lips in a sloppy kiss. Shizuma's reflexes kicked in and she kissed her back while the part of her brain that wasn't in the moment was mulling over what she had just agreed to.

She was stuck here indefinitely. Because Nagisa said so. Because Nagisa wanted. Because Nagisa begged. Because Nagisa cried.

She bit the redhead's lip out of sheer pettiness. The only thing it achieved was to make her moan and deepen their lip-lock while tugging on the knot of Shizuma's robe. The damn thing wouldn't budge (props to the older woman's knot making skills) and it frustrated her.

For all the passion Nagisa was trying to instigate into their impromptu making out, Shizuma wasn't having it at all.

"Nagisa... stop," she managed to say once her lips were free from their cage. "Nagisa, please…"

Her plea fell into deaf years. Nagisa was nibbling on her throat now while tugging uselessly on the robe. Sweet, innocent and cute Nagisa had been replaced by a thirsty succubus. A frightening metamorphose Shizuma could only blame on herself and her… teachings.

 _I have created a monster_. Not exactly a monster per se. It was more like an extension of herself. Extension that was getting dangerously close to her underwear right now. So, she did what she had always done in this kind of situation, when using words became a pointless endeavor:

Shizuma gave in.

And turned in auto-pilot.

It was her hands which caught Nagisa's face to draw it to hers. It was her lips crashing her girlfriend's. Her fingers burying in red hair. It was her body responding in kind, while her mind fled the scene.

_What am I going to do?_

It wasn't that she completely disliked the idea of staying home; she could see Miyuki more often. That was good. No, the idea of staying in London wasn't all that unpleasant, that wasn't the issue. The issue was how she would deal with being around Nagisa more often. Shizuma could manage… at small doses. But being a permanent conductor meant she would have to deal with it all day, every day for who knows how long.

Nagisa's perseverance with the knot finally paid off, her fingers reached their destination without any preamble. Shizuma's body trembled, she moaned shakily, hips recoiling at the cold, uncomfortable contact.

But her (now fully awake) brain was still reeling. How exactly was she supposed to get out of this? In two days, she would have to call London's Symphony, set up an appointment and kiss all her Air Miles goodbye. Had she had any idea of the disaster looming over her head, she would have had more fun in Russia. She had really toned it down this time. If only she had known.

The thought made her sigh again which Nagisa took for herself. Objectively, it was working, Shizuma couldn't deny that her body was responding positively to her girlfriend's attentions. Her mind wasn't processing any of it, but it would take a little bit of observation to notice.

No, instead of enjoying what was happening, Shizuma was thinking about having some me-time somewhere away from Nagisa and her stifling affections. Her mind scrolled through a list of things she could do: horse-riding was out of the question, too risky. The summer house wasn't an option either; Nagisa would insist to tag along, surely... it took another five minutes of deliberations with herself before Shizuma finally settled on something: a day at a spa. Complete care, massages and no one forcing her hand to settle down.

_Perfect._

She let her body relax completely at this moment. The climax that followed was as unexpected as it was bland. She hadn't been in it in the first place, but still. Had they reached the point of no return where even physical gratification wasn't enough to cover for their issues anymore?

Shizuma mumbled something. Something petty, snide and crude. It wasn't directed at the woman on top of her, not really. It was more of remark to herself, but despite the heavy breathing, Nagisa had caught it and lifted her head.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing."

"You did, Shizuma."

"I did not," Nagisa was being insistent and it was annoying her greatly. Why not let it go?

"You spoke French, I heard you speaking French,"

Well… this was certainly going south. Her body tensed, the anger she had felt earlier as Nagisa made her request came back in full force. Just like then, the redhead was cornering her, giving Shizuma no choice but to comply.

 _Well then._ She was going to get it.

"You want to know?" her voice was unexpectedly icy for the woman shivering on top of her. "You want to know?" she repeated louder this time, looking straight into her eyes. "Is that what you want?"

Curiosity killed the cat. Curiosity would break Nagisa's heart.

"Y-yes."

Shizuma's face settled into an absolutely blank expression. She didn't blink when she repeated the words distinctively. She didn't even flinch when she explained exactly what they meant. When Nagisa crumbled above her, hunching over as if to shield herself from bullets, Shizuma realized just how stupidly heartless that had been.

_I'm a monster._

She was angry at Nagisa of course, but mostly at herself for letting this situation happen. Letting this relationship rot and fester like a bad wound instead of being mature enough to call it quits. She didn't mean to make Nagisa cry, Shizuma cared about her. Back then, she had cared enough to think they would live happily ever after, buy into the illusion and drag the unsuspecting redhead with her. They were so young. They used to be so happy.

Now she was making her girlfriend cry twice in the span of half an hour. That ought to be breaking some Guinness record.

"I'm… I'm sorry," Shizuma wrapped her arms around Nagisa in silent apology. It was a valiant attempt at salvaging the situation, followed by a half-baked excuse: "Forgive me, I'm just tired. I guess this trip has gotten the best of me."

The woman was still in tears, body shuddering with each sob. When Shizuma touched her face and lifted it up, Nagisa didn't fight it. Her eyes were so full of sorrow, it was painful to even look at her. Shizuma forced herself to, nevertheless. Forced herself to face what she had done to someone who didn't deserve any of her ire.

 _Forgive me_  is what her lips were saying when she kissed Nagisa.

And Nagisa always did.

-0-

Her mind was deep in thought, still reminiscing over the event when the opening door startled her (despite having stood there and knocked). Shizuma felt herself being lifted off the floor and taken into a hug. Some things never change.

"Glad to see Siberian blizzards haven't frosted you over," the man said cheerfully.

Shizuma chuckled. "Moscow is not that cold at this time of the year, you know," she paused. "Dennis, I think you can put me down."

"Of course, of course! Sorry," he lowered her to the ground, dusting off her arms as he spoke. "I got carried away. But you can't blame me!" his eyes were twinkling, "I haven't seen you in ages."

"Two months is not exactly ages," she remarked. Dennis had always been easy to banter with.

He puffed. "It is when you don't take the time to phone Miyuki," he was smiling that easy smile again. "I honestly thought something had happened! She told me I was being dramatic, and you were probably busy."

"She knows me best," Shizuma winked. "I was busy; the Bolshoi wasn't exactly going to lead itself."

He hummed," I'm sure the musicians were very grateful for your guidance. Some probably more than others," he gave her a knowing look, catching her off-guard.

Of course, he knew. She just hoped it was on Miyuki and not because she had been somehow slacking in covering her traces. Shizuma wasn't particularly happy about the revelation, but it was Dennis. She knew she could trust him.

"Come on in, it's freezing out there," he beckoned her inside.

He looked even taller than the last time she had seen him. Dark, gentle eyes and mussy hair complete with the vintage wool pullover. He really did fit the old historian lecturer look to a T, except for the glasses. He told her to go to the living room while he was heading to the kitchen.

Miyuki came downstairs right as Shizuma stepped in the room. They exchanged a smile, the conductor opening her arms to welcome her friend.

"I missed you," her voice was muffled by Miyuki's shoulder.

Miyuki scoffed, pinching her side, making Shizuma yelp and recoil a little. "You should have called, then."

A good-natured lecture like she used to give back in Astrae. With less bite, but still straight to the point.

"I know, and I apologize." Miyuki's hum was the only acknowledgement she was offered.

There was a chuckle on the other side of the room. "Should I let you two be, or…?"

Shizuma pulled away, giving Dennis a look. "Jealous?"

"Very."

They smiled at each other when Miyuki rolled her eyes at their antics. Children. She went to sit as her husband put down the tray he was carrying from the kitchen and joined her. Shizuma, sitting across from them, observed the odd spectacle with attention; the way Miyuki looked at him as he poured the tea, the ghost of a smile on her lips when he added just a splash of milk in her cup before handing it. The glint in her eyes.

It certainly was a long way from their wedding night. Or rather, the first night she had cried herself into exhaustion on his shoulder. They had barely talked to each other during the day, Miyuki had no idea what to expect. When night came, when it was just the two of them in their hotel room, Miyuki gathered every last fiber of strength remaining and stood straight. Daring him to make a move, defiant, but oh so afraid. He was still a man, he was still stronger than her, no matter how good of a front she put. He could still break her, he could still toss her on the bed, he could still force her.

He could.

But he did not do any of it.

Instead, he had stood right in front of her and leaned in. Miyuki had closed her eyes, thinking that maybe if she shut them tight enough, she would disappear, vanish or wake up from that horrible, horrible nightmare. She waited for a kiss that never came. Instead, it was the caress of his breath on her ear, the little puffs of air as he spoke the words that made her crumble.  _You don't have to force yourself anymore._

And boy had she cried that night. Out of anger, frustration and lost chances.

It wasn't a good memory for either of them, but still. It had opened the gates. They became roommates by design, then friends, and three years ago; lovers. There was genuine fondness when they looked at each other. Small innocuous touches, rare, but present. They just felt… at peace with each other, something that Shizuma secretly envied. Theirs was a good match, despite the disastrous beginning. Her train of thought inadvertently drifted to her own relationship. Instead of dread, it filled her with sadness at the mess of it. Her own creation. Nagisa didn't deserve this. She never deserved any of it.

"...as your trip?" Miyuki asked, her hand casually squeezing Dennis' knee.

"Pardon?" Shizuma blinked, her tongue had a tinge of bitterness to it. It was annoying.

"How was Russia?"

"Oh…" the flutist popped in her head again. A grin on her lips and a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Quite… amazing, if I were to say so mys—"

"Russia, Shizuma. Not the women, the country."

"Ah..." the other woman's enthusiasm tumbled down as did her smile. "A bit rainy. Delicious food, though."

Dennis snorted before it turned into full blown laughter when Shizuma joined him. Miyuki's warning look was enough to calm them both. Her glare was scalding when she glanced back at Shizuma who shrugged it off.

"You did ask."

The woman sighed. She had been right, for sure, when years ago, Shizuma had interrupted the Etoile election to steal Nagisa.  _She was back again._ Miyuki had no idea what it meant, back then. She wished she had been wrong.

If only she had been wrong.

* * *

There were many ways this parley could go. Sadly, none of them had a satisfying outcome for Ann. But giving up was not an option; she was stubborn (perseverant, her daddy always says), as stubborn (perseverant) as her colleague.

"No," her colleague who had just rebuffed her again. Her colleague who was blatantly tuning her out and wasn't even trying to be discreet about it as she returned to her (fake, Ann was sure it was fake!) reading.

"Come on! Please! Just this time, this one time! I swear, it's on me next time!"

"Apparently Lady Gaga has a penis now," the other woman looked absolutely captivated by the magazine in her hands. "Interesting…" she mumbled while reading the article.

"Isis, come on! You know it's unfair."

There was long, agonizing pause after that. Isis wet her lips before looking up. "Unfair?" her eyebrow went up, she closed the magazine and leaned on the chair, both elbows on her knees. "You know what unfair is?"

The black - blonde last week - haired woman was ready to speak, defend her case again because her perseverance, as her daddy says, called for it. But Isis did not let her and pressed on:

"You know what unfair is? It's having to take care of Kong over there," her hand gestured to the door vaguely, "Not two, but three times in a row. I said no. Now, get lost before I lose control."

In normal circumstances, with other people, this last statement should have been enough to make them give up. But these weren't normal circumstances and Ann wasn't 'other people', no. She was a woman with a goal and the means to achieve it if only that bullheaded individual would cave in. Perhaps a little honesty would do the trick? After all, if Isis knew Ann's motives, she would maybe (hopefully) be more mellow? If she had a heart, that is.

"Look," Ann started. "I got this client, and she's smoking hot, you can't even imagine," this seemed to catch Isis' attention enough for her to tilt her head and look somewhat interested.  _Score!_ "We've been talking ever since she came this morning, it's going well," she took a long breath, "So, I'm asking you not to break my mojo," and finished with a solemn nod.

There was another long pause, long enough to nourish Ann's hopes. Isis was giving her a beautiful smile, eyes full of understanding. It meant she was rooting for her, right?

"No."

Ann wanted to scream.

This was going nowhere.

"Okay, why? At least, give me a good reason."

She stood up, removed her glasses, "I'll do better than that. I'll give you three," and placed them carefully in her locker, pocketing her chocolate snack before turning around to face Ann. "You're straight," point blank. "That's one," Isis counted on her fingers. "Two: you assume that I care enough about your budding fantasy. And three: the salary is not enough to warrant putting myself through the trauma of Kong a third time."

Poor 'Kong' was an unsuspecting man with a severe case of hirsutism who came in twice a month for a full massage, complete with 'aphrodisiac' essential oils. It wouldn't be so bad if he did not insist on parading with his fur and wear like a trophy, proof of his virility. In itself it wasn't problematic, if it weren't for his attitude, unsolicited remarks on the employees' physical appearance ('oh, shame. You've put on weight.') and general lack of manners. The employees had discreetly set up a schedule so none of them would have to deal with him more than once every couple of months.

Isis had covered the shift of a colleague who had been sick and turned out to have Kong scheduled on that day, a case of bad luck. She could understand. Then, she had to go a second time as it was her turn. Mark her words, there would be no third.

Ann, relentless Ann, perseverant Ann, absolutely refused to give up. She threw a bottle to the sea:

"Let's rock-paper-scissor it!" she blurted.

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah! The winner takes the customer," Ann grinned.  _Ding, ding, ding!_

Isis shook her head. "No way. You want to bet on it, you've got to make it worth my while."

Her shoulder slumped a little. "I told you, she is  _hot_ , it's plenty worth it."

"Nah."

After a short negotiation with herself, Ann conceded: "I'll take your Kong shift," Isis smiled but didn't move. "Twice."

That was enough to make the woman peel herself off the wall, walk to her to shake on it. "Deal."

-0-

Shizuma had been enjoying her day tremendously. The place was nice, relaxing, the obnoxious music not so obnoxious, and especially low enough for her ears to tune it out completely. Problems? Vanished. The perfect loophole to the real world and her relationship. No running in a stranger's arms this time. Progress.

She closed her eyes, letting out a long, content sigh.

When the door opened, Shizuma couldn't fight the smile that crept on her lips. Another good point this establishment was how employees weren't asking shallow questions while pretending to care. The woman who'd been taking care of her since this morning had only asked her name. The discussion that followed had been organic, no pretend hum of agreement or fake looks of surprise. In fact, she had done most of the talking and Shizuma had let it happen. They had somehow agreed to grab a coffee after her shift, because for all the progress she had made, a leopard couldn't change its spot and neither could she.

Ann, nineteen (too young, she'd decided), a bubbly personality, a penchant for hair dyes and sweets.

An image of a seventeen-year-old Nagisa stuffing herself with  _mousse au chocolat_ during one of their dates came to mind. Her smile turned bittersweet.

"There's little café not far from here. I've heard they make a wonderful red tea." Shizuma suggested, not bothering to open her eyes.

Isis frowned for a second before it hit her. Ann may be straight, but Ann had game and Ann didn't waste time.

"I will tell her when she is done," it was Shizuma's turn be confused. It didn't sound like Ann at all. The voice was deeper.

She opened her eyes, eager, wanting to know to whom it belonged. Sadly, all she could see was her back for now, as the woman was looking for something in the closet in the corner.

Shizuma decided to check her out, because of course.

Tall. Not as tall as her but tall nevertheless. Black hair? No… it was brown, dark brown up in a sexy-messy bun held by a... a brush? It did look like a brush. Shizuma smiled.  _Nice touch._  What grabbed her attention next was her back; perfect shape. One she could definitely see herself peppering with kisses as she lifted the woman's shirt up, retracing the line of her spine with her tongue…

They both froze when Isis finally turned around.

_Exquisite._

While Shizuma was observing the woman, thinking that she was a strikingly gorgeous thing, the other was more startled with... her hair. Ever the professional (she tried, okay?) Isis finally got herself out of it and opted to ignore that detail for now. She moved the small chair and sat down, facing Shizuma whose hands were on the table between them, ready to be tended to.

"Where is Ann, if I may?" the smile didn't leave her face when she spoke. The sudden employee change wasn't unwelcomed though. This one looked… ravishing.

Isis was focused on Shizuma's hands, moisturizing them one at a time, she didn't answer right away.

"She had to take care of another customer, I'm sorry," she bit her lip. Ann's dejected face had been priceless. The poor girl had attempted to talk herself out of their little bet, but Isis didn't let her; a deal was a deal. The only person who had the power to change that was Shizuma, if she requested her to come back. Isis had to ask, it was protocol, she just hoped it wouldn't bit her in the ass. "I can call her, if you'd like."

Her whole body was taut with tension as she prayed and waited for Shizuma's answer.  _Don't say yes. Don't say yes, please._

After five unbearable seconds, she finally got one, "It's fine," Shizuma nodded. "I guess it can't be helped. The other customer must be more appealing."

That last remark made Isis puff a quiet chuckle, which Shizuma was very proud of, for some reason. When the woman lifted her head, she smiled. A real, true smile, not the one she usually reserved to the customers, one big enough for the shadow of a dimple to appear on her cheek. Isis went back to tend to Shizuma's hands, leaving the other woman very confused.

They had just made eye contact and it had absolutely no effect on the employee.

That, for Shizuma, was a first. An annoying first, because that just didn't happen. It didn't, and it couldn't, not to her. As she mulled over her little irritation, her eyes landed on the woman's shirt, more precisely they zeroed on the small pocket of her scrubs, from which a chocolate bar was pocking out.

When she noticed Shizuma's eyes straying and focusing on her chest, Isis' first reaction was to bite the inside of her lip. Despite the (purposely) unflattering, shapeless outfit, she had had male customers sneaking a peek, when she was leaning over them, women not so much. She glanced up quickly, to make sure. Yep. Shizuma was looking but just… looking. Not leering. She glanced down, remembering the chocolate in her pocket.

"You want it."

Shizuma cleared her throat to hide her surprise. She hadn't meant to be obvious, which means, she was totally going to lie about it, because reasons. "I don't."

"You do," the other stated.

"I don't"

"You do."

"I don't."

Isis blinked, lifting her head to give her a can-you-stop-doing-this look. Shizuma stared back, finally able to catch more than a quick glimpse of her face.She marvelled at her eyes; the speckles of yellow gold around the pupil, surrounded by blue. Peculiar enough to be noted, even if they did look annoyed right now.

Isis sighed quietly, making her mind and standing up to wash her hands. She came back quickly, rolled her stool around the table and closer to Shizuma. This wasn't really protocol, but it was a good way to develop customers' loyalty, which is exactly what the spa promoted.

She unwrapped the chocolate, "Open up."

"Pardon?"

"Open your mouth," she said.

This was a surprising turn of events, but also a great occasion to see how far Shizuma could push it. The other woman had just served it to her on a silver tray. A bit of harmless fun, she reasoned.

With deliberate slowness, she opened her mouth. Not too big, just enough for it to be enticing while not exceedingly obvious. A glimpse of white teeth, a calculated swipe of her tongue on the inside of her lower lip. A deadly trick even she hadn't been able to resist, a while ago. No one could resist, this weapon was a  _killer._

A killer that had left Isis as cold as the first time Shizuma saw a man parading his six-pack around on the beach.

After washing her hands again, she went back to her task as if nothing had happened. As if Shizuma hadn't just used one of the most effective tricks in her repertory.

What.

The whole situation was surreal. Annoying, puzzling and completely surreal.

_Asexual?_

Chancing a second look, Shizuma noticed the little detail she had completely overlooked: the woman's ring finger was claimed for.

Whoops.

She cleared her throat; it did explain the impassivity. Despite everything, Shizuma still had principles, and one of them was to never mess with a married woman, ever. She didn't need that kind of drama in her life.

"What instrument do you play?" the unexpected question drew her out of her mussing.

"Excuse me?"

"You're a musician," Isis pointed at her hands with her chin, squeezing one of them. "I see it. What's your instrument?"

"Oh..."  _Interesting_. So, she could spot a musician from an office worker? It certainly demanded a bit of observation.  _Let's see how observant you are, then._  "Guess."

Isis lifted her head again, eyes sparkling with the prospect of challenge. She was going to play along, if the small smirk tugging on her lips was any indication.

"Okay." she placed the file carefully on the small table and took Shizuma's hands in her own, first palm to palm, fingers feeling around for a bit, then she brushed over her fingertips, noting Shizuma's reactions to the touch; before massaging the back of her wrist and both of her thumbs.

All of that without looking away from Shizuma a single time.

The last thing she did was to give her a quick once over, assessing her posture. Her smirk grew when her mind listed all of her findings.

"Pianist."

Nailed it.

Shizuma nodded, mouth half-open, both at the answer and the crazy roller coaster of sensations she had just experienced. Not only was this woman observant, but she knew just how to use her hands. A skill she highly respected and appreciated.

"What gave it away?" she chuckled a little, but really, she wanted to know.

Isis hummed, grabbing the file to tend to her nails. "The way you're sitting, first. The flexibility of your wrists. There's strength in your thumbs, to balance with the other fingers. And your fingertips are still sensitive."

Shizuma was just a tiny little bit amazed right now. The woman had managed to gather all of this in the span of two minutes. She was so speechless that the only thing that came out of her mouth was a muffled "Wow."

Isis gave her a self-satisfied nod and let the conversation end, focusing fully on her customer's hands. They were quiet for a while, until Shizuma realized she had no idea what her name was. The woman hadn't introduced herself, hadn't even spoken about herself at all.

_What a strange person._

She decided she ought to know what to call her, at the very least. "I'm Shizuma," she offered with a smile. "Shizuma Hanazono."

Isis looked up. "Japanese?"

"Indeed," she said. "Distant ancestors," as per tradition, they had kept their family name intact through generations an weddings. Each member had been given a Japanese name to honor those who had come before. Shizuma was no exception, despite having next to no connection with the country itself. "I did play there a couple of times," she added as an afterthought.

"I see," the employee had a cute smile, Shizuma remarked. It always brought her dimple out.

They were quiet again, Isis focused solely on her hands, tuning everything out. She took her time, but worked efficiently, leaving Shizuma to her own thoughts. Thoughts which incidentally involved both of them with considerably less clothing and more heat. Until she remembered two little things: one, the ring glaring at her, and two: Nagisa's shadow looming over.

If she wanted to keep her little routine, she'd have to be even more discreet. Or she could give it up altogether. Settling was a good opportunity to give it a shot. Just to prove she could do it. Maybe.

If she wanted.

Which she really, really didn't want to.

_Damn it._

Isis finished up, inspecting her work with a critical eye before rolling away a little.

"All done."

Shizuma blinked out of her mussing, looking at her new manicure.  _Perfect._ "Thank you," she meant it; she knew how to take care of her hands, and she knew when it was done well.

All she earned from that comment was a small smile. Not a blush in sight, it stung a little. Isis stood up, packing everything back in the closet before walking to the door.

"I will call Ann. She should be finished by now," she nodded back at Shizuma. "Goodbye, Miss Hanazono."

When the door closed, Shizuma leaned on her chair with a content sigh. An already good day, brightened by a pleasant encounter with… with…

With who?

Not only had the mysterious woman not disclosed her name, she had turned the tables in such a way that Shizuma had revealed things without even being aware of what she was doing.  _And_ the trick with the chocolate hadn't worked.

She scoffed, indignant and a little (a lot) impressed all the same.

_What a strange woman._

"Happy now?" Ann asked, vigorously scrubbing her hands to get rid of the oils  _and_ hairs.

"What about?" Isis blinked innocently.

"What about? Seriously, what about?" her face was turning red, she was absolutely livid. "Are you for real? You just spent forty-five minutes with Aphrodite herself and that's all you can say?" Ann shook her head and waved her hand dismissively. "You bloody… alien thing. You're hopeless, get out of my sight."

Isis frowned and smiled at the same time. "I'm not into women with funky hair color, kid," Ann grunted at the nickname. It always riled her up, which was one of Isis' preferred activities. "I leave that to you. Now…" she checked her watch. "I think you should go. She's been all alone for almost three minutes."

She didn't need to be told twice; Ann flew out of the break room, leaving Isis to laugh while shaking her head.

* * *

Shizuma was lost. Like, legit lost. It was a rare occurrence; as she had been gifted with a very keen sense of direction. In fact, it was so keen that even back on Astrae, she had made it to the (very) short-list of students who'd  _never_  gotten lost in the forest. It was like her second home… or third rather. Or was it fourth?

The woman frowned, listing the houses she had lived in before being enrolled at Miatre. This led her to take the wrong turn,  _again_  and get even more lost,  _again_. She was frustrated; one because she was lost in this maze of corridors and two, because she was here in the first place. Because Nagisa wanted and Shizuma had caved in.

_Coward._

"May I help you?" the voice had come out of nowhere, thankfully she managed to suppress her startle.

Shizuma turned around with a plastered smile for the young man. An ultra-fake one to hide her discomfort. "Yes, please," she looked down at the piece of paper in her hand. "Would you mind telling me where I can find the orchestra manager? It's written room 225, but…" she shrugged a little, leaving the rest of the sentence hanging.

The man was frozen, looking at her like she was a ghost. "Y-you… you're… you're Sh-Sh—"

"Shizuma Hanazono, yes," he didn't move for another couple of seconds. It took her fake-coughing in her hand and saying please to get him out of his torpor.

"O-of course. Follow me," he blurted like his mouth was full of marbles. He was too impressed to walk alongside her, preferring to stay a step behind to stare discreetly. "This way, please."

It wasn't every day he saw a literal music genius with a killer body strutting around in this building. No one had warned him of her coming here, he'd have trimmed his hair otherwise, popped a few mints in his mouth. Wait, did his breath smell? He checked discreetly and shrugged. Not too bad. Maybe he should have worn a nicer shirt?

Meanwhile, Shizuma was deliberately tuning his antics out, putting his odd behavior on a birth defect of some kind. He escorted her to the door and said goodbye in an awkward mess of stuttering.

Once alone, she took the time to gather herself, take a deep breath and then knock.

"Come in," a muffled voice answered.

She opened the door, greeted by a warm smile from the man sitting behind the large office desk in front of her.

"Miss Hanazono, I'm so glad you finally agreed to meet with us!" his cheerful and enthusiastic demeanor brought a smile to her face. He reminded her of her father.

"I apologize for not doing it sooner," it was a half-truth, she hadn't been sorry until now. "My schedule was packed. I came back recently from a tour," she really didn't need to justify anything, but somehow, something was compelling her to.

"Of course, of course. Well you are here now," he rose from his seat and she took the time to observe him.

He was built, and tall as well. Fifty years old maybe? Maybe less, but with his salt and pepper hair it wasn't easy to say. He reached for her hand and shook it. "Allow me to introduce myself: Philip Edwards, I am in charge of the orchestra," he said with a proud smile.

Not condescending, not arrogant, just genuine pride coupled with genuine delight to finally meet with her.

She mirrored it. "Shizuma Hanazono…" she paused. "Former guest conductor."

What she implied didn't register right away, her smile grew as she saw the array of expressions on Philip's face. Surprise, then confusion, followed by sheer disbelief. "Pardon me, but… did you just…?"

Shizuma chuckled. "I think I just did, yes."

"Oh."

Really, there was nothing else he could say. Philip had expected rough negotiations, to fight teeth and nails, laying all the pros to convince her, offer to cut his own salary to increase hers, as a sign of good faith. He had expected some back and forth, give her some time to think about it after this meeting. Shizuma was highly-sought after, many had tried and failed before him, he knew what to expect.

Or at least, he thought he did. She had just thrown all of his assumptions out of the window.

He led her to a chair, taking the time to gather his thoughts as he went around the desk to sit down "We… we have not discussed your contract yet. We've built a small reputation over the years, but with this new formation, investors are a bit shy when it comes to funding…"

In other words; no lavish salary in sight for now.

"Money is not an issue, please don't concern yourself with it," she gently cut him while waving her hand. "What I do want, however, is full dedication from well-trained musicians. No compromise."

"Of course, Miss Hanazono." the man paused, still flabbergasted by the turn of events. "But if I may, why so suddenly?" he leaned over, arms on his desk, "We have contacted you several times over the months and you never expressed the wish to work with us before," his brows furrowed a little.

Yep. Totally her father.

Shizuma looked away for a second before meeting his eyes again. There was a gentle hue in them that made her feel comfortable. "I had never met you in person, before," she crossed her legs, with a hand resting on them. "I've met a lot of orchestra managers over the years. They all had something in common, no matter who, or where."

He nodded to let her continue.

"They reeked of arrogance," she said. "All of them, no exception. Their interest wasn't to bring out the best in their formation. It wasn't music. All they ever wanted was to possess and flaunt. The best concert room, the most expensive conductor, the most expensive instruments, even though they wouldn't be able to tell a viola from a violin if their life depended on it."

Philip had to smile at this. He had met a few of them himself, he knew exactly what she was talking about.

"All of it, just because they  _could_. They didn't care about talent, they wanted bragging rights."

As soon as Shizuma understood this, she had gradually increased her tariff rates to ridiculous proportions, just because. They wanted her? Those idiots would have to fight for it. They ate it all up, throwing money at her, then throwing even more money in hopes to make her stay. She never did.

"And what makes you think I am any different?" he asked, utterly impressed by her scheming. She had played them like a fiddle.

_Remarkable._

"Simple," she gestured at her chest, "You didn't spare a single glance."

Philip laughed, leaning back on his chair. It was hearty and communicative, Shizuma found herself chuckling along with him. Truth be told, she had only been half-joking about the last part. The image of her father popped up in her mind, a surge of warmth making her heart swell as she looked at Philip. She really did miss him.

The man sobered up, scratching his chin slowly as he went through the paper he'd been reading before their meeting. After a bout of silence, he finally handed it to her.

"This is our schedule. Concerts and studio recordings for the next two years," he explained.

Shizuma nodded, reading over it quickly until something caught her attention. "Why is there a question mark on the studio recording planned for next autumn?"

Philip sighed, "We are not sure about this one yet."

"What do you mean?" this was certainly unusual.

"Well…" he paused to fold his arms. "We aren't first in line, you see. Other orchestras are being considered. We will compete against them, for it."

Shizuma hummed. "A concurrence?" he nodded. "What kind of project is it?"

"A film. Original soundtracks."

Well, that was big. Big and prestigious for any orchestra involved. Nobody in their right mind would refuse such an opportunity. "Who are we competing against?"

She had said  _we_  and Philip was very, very happy about this. "Paris' Philharmonic and the National Orchestra of China."

She winced. Paris was a tough one. It was going to be difficult, but it also meant something else, and she smiled when it hit her.

"The film is a large production, isn't it?"

"Quite important indeed," he conceded.

Even more prestigious for them. Having the orchestra's name attached to an assured box-office success would only increase their popularity. They could score bigger, international tours, even.

_Dream big._

"We will win." she said resolutely.

He nodded, lost in his head again for a bit. Shizuma could see the wheels turning, she kept quiet, leaving him to voice his concerns on his own terms.

"We… do have another problem nevertheless, Miss Hanazono," she nodded to let him continue. "We don't have a concertmaster currently. As you can see, there are other question marks next to several other dates."

Shizuma nodded again, spotting a question mark on a date in four months. That was short. "What happened to your former concertmaster?"

Philip looked at her, the corner of his mouth twitching up a little. "She is expecting."

"I see," which led her to her next question: "And the conductor?"

Philip shook his head at her tacit question. "Retired. He wanted to give way to youth, as he said," the man leaned over again, playing with a pen on his desk. "In fact, the whole orchestra was changed two years ago. New musicians, fresh off conservatories or with very little experience working within a formation. He trained them, taught them everything he could before leaving," he frowned, looking apologetic. "They are still a little… green and tough, to put it bluntly."

That was another thing he had expected to be negotiating with her. They weren't bad people, they just lacked a little bit of discipline. Compared to what she was used to, it could very well be a tiny bit much.

Shizuma hummed. "Hard to lead?"

"Indeed," he admitted.

"Okay," she would deal with it when they met, there was no need to overthink this right now, especially when there were other pressing matters. "I assume you are planning to have an audition to recruit a new concertmaster?" he nodded, "How about taking someone from the Royal College? They are experienced." Shizuma's suggestion made him grin.

"Advertising for your school, aren't you?" he chuckled. "I was planning to organize a kind of 'free entrance' audition. Students from school tend to be…" Philip paused, a sheepish expression on his face. "They can be a little smug when they first start to work."

He waved his hand when she blinked at him. "Not you, of course. But I think… someone from outside could be a good option as well. It could be beneficial for the young musicians here."

"What do you suggest, then?"

She had to admit, Philip had a point. A lot of student from the Royal College had the tendency to become full of themselves, often alienating other orchestra members, solely based on where they had been trained. A good work environment meant Shizuma couldn't allow internal tensions and ego battles to rattle her orchestra.

"Organizing the audition throughout two days," Philip said. "One for students only. And the second, free entrance."

It wasn't such a bad idea, actually. Shizuma found herself agreeing; it could bring in interesting people. Or a huge crowd… she bit her lip.

"If they know who's conducting the audition…" she left the rest unsaid. Her reputation preceded her in the profession. Years as a pianist followed by years as a conductor, Shizuma wasn't an anonymous face. "There's a possibility this could backfire," and they would never find the person they're looking for.

"I've already thought about this," Philip assured her. "Your name won't be mentioned at all," he paused, she still looked skeptical. "We can always have you sitting in a secluded corner, away from the stage while they perform?" he joked.

Shizuma puffed and shook her head. "Just make sure they do not know who will be conducting before they are on stage," it was only two days. She could deal with it. "What happens if we don't find a concertmaster after the auditions?"

It was only two days, after all. And there were many variables left unsaid: what if the concertmaster was bad. What if they didn't fit in with the orchestra. What if they didn't get along with Shizuma… they would have to work closely together, the well-being of the orchestra reposed solely on how conductor and concertmaster got along.

Shizuma wasn't hard to work with, or at least, she liked to think she wasn't. She could adapt quickly, that's what had made her reputation as a guest conductor. Still, there were things she wasn't willing to compromise on. Guest conducting also meant that on the rare times she had found herself at odds with a concertmaster, she would remind herself their collaboration was only temporary.

Here things were different, she wouldn't be able to leave. And going through concertmasters would send a bad signal to the orchestra as well as to the professionals of the sector.

"We will find them. I am certain," Philip said.

"Then, I can only trust you Mr. Edwards." Shizuma stood up. Their meeting had been fruitful, she would have a lot to think about.

"I was wondering…" he walked around his desk. "Would you like to meet the orchestra now? They are all here. I told them I had a surprise."

Philip's grin was all mischief which made her smile too, before she nodded. To think she was stomping her way here only forty minutes ago, radiating bad mood and resentment at Nagisa. It was the right choice, she ought to thank her, tonight.

He offered his arm and escorted her to the concert room, guiding her through the corridors and showing her around at the same time. As they approached the room, she could hear loud chatters, along with distorted music. Philip instructed her to stay put while he went in to prepare her entrance.

Cheers greeted him when he opened the door and walked down to the stage. "Ladies and gentlemen, I've got good news and bad news for you. Which one would you like to hear first?"

"Bad news first!" a tuba yelled in the far back, followed by agreeing noises and nods.

Philip cleared his throat, looking solemn as he spoke. "I'm afraid playtime is over…" sighs and groans were already rising. He grinned; now came the good news. "Because we have a new conductor."

That was enough to cut their complaining short and make them pause.

The same musician who spoke earlier shook his head. "Nah. Pass. We're good for now, thanks, Philip," laughter rose, his peers cheering him on

"Are you, really?" a voice called from the door.

Shizuma stood at the end of the alley, she saw them squint, trying to see who it was, then gasp and whisper. She walked down the alley, slow and confident, taking in her surroundings while allowing the musicians to recover from their surprise.

"Pleased to meet you all, my name is Shizuma Hanazono," she smiled, big, shiny and swoon-worthy. "I believe I'm your new conductor now?"

"S-seriously?!" it had come from one of the violins this time.

Shizuma bowed her head a little. "If you will have me."

Like they'd ever say no. Musicians were in complete disbelief. Philip was grinning proudly as if to say, 'look who I brought you'. When the surprise wore off and Shizuma didn't disappear like the mirage they all thought she was, the musicians nodded briskly.

"Thank you."

She thanked them.

Shizuma Hanazono had just  _thanked_ a bunch of nobodies for agreeing to let her lead them. Like they were doing  _her_  a favor.

She really was something else.

"Can… can I get an autograph, though?" it was the same tuba again. His question was followed by murmurs of 'come on, mate!' and people rolling their eyes at his antics.

Shizuma spotted him, giving the man a sweet, sweet smile.

"No."

* * *

Music filled the apartment, her hips matching the tempo to a T. It was a bit loud, but a necessary evil. The knife in her hand was drumming to the beat of the percussions, chopping peppers in rhythm before pouring them in the pan along with other vegetables and seasonings. It was Sunday, aka her favorite day because no work. No work meant no customers talking her ears off and no Brazilian waxing in sight. Perfect.

She just had the time to add the rice before she heard knocking.

"Coming!" the woman padded quickly to the door, leaving it open as she returned to the kitchen to keep an eye on the stove

"Hey—Ow!" the blonde man quickly covered his ears. "Why is it so loud?"

She gave him a pointed look when he walked in the kitchen. "Because it's Sunday."

He frowned, removing his leather jacket to throw it carelessly on a stool despite her disapproving face. There were hangers at the entrance, damn it. He  _knew_. "And what is there on Sundays that you need to make us all deaf?"

She lowered volume of the stereo placed on the shelf before turning around to face him again. "There, Leslie. Happy?"

He was going to nod and stopped halfway when he heard it. It was muffled, coming from the upper flat, but there was no mistaking. And if he could hear it, then so could she. She had keener ears, he knew.

The woman exhaled, shoulders slumping a little. "Yep. I'm ninety percent sure she's pretending," it was way too loud to be genuine.

"Okay, okay," Leslie shuddered, his face contorting in a disgusted grimace. "Put the music back, please."

She laughed, returning to her cooking while he sat at the bar just in front of her. Her hips swayed to the music again which inadvertently drew his attention like a magnet. "Why are you naked, by the way?" not that he minded.

"Where are you?"

"Uh…" this was a weird question. "Your flat?" he tried.

"Exactly," she turned around again, blue-yellow eyes staring blankly at him. "My flat, my rules. If I want to walk naked, I walk naked," she looked down at herself, grabbing the hem of her large t-shirt to pull it up, revealing a glimpse of her underwear. "Which I am not, by the way."

Leslie had really tried, but his brain just kind of froze when she did that and it took him a couple of awkward seconds to reboot it. "I'm uh…" he needed to change the subject, find something to do, because she was totally glaring right now. "I'll… settle the table."

She snorted. "Do that, yeah," and returned to her cooking.

Despite having known her for a while and everything, he still felt a push he couldn't quite get rid of. There was just  _something_ coming out of her that kept him at arm's length, no matter what. He always told himself that he didn't mind it much; they were already friends… with occasional benefits. But it was starting to bug him now, for some reason.

Still, he wouldn't bring it up while they ate, there was something else he needed to talk to her about. The rest could wait.

"Hey…" he put his fork down, drawing the word out in hopes it would help him finish the rest of his sentence. "So, there's an opening for a job and…"

"I have a job already," she frowned. He looked stiff, she had no idea this was going but his changing demeanor didn't bode well.

"It's about a better one?"

"I have a very good job."

Leslie sighed and stared at her. "Weren't you complaining about it, last time? Something about finding Kong's hairs in your bra?" Isis made a face. "Rings any bell?"

"Touché," she pushed her plate away in disgust _._

Leslie smiled, patting her back in sympathy. "Thought so," after a pause to buy himself more time by pretending to drink, he finally dared. "It's an audition."

Isis' expression changed as soon as the last word crossed his mouth.

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

Leslie blew through his mouth. What a bullhead, why did she have to be like this? "Can you please let me finish?" they engaged in a staring fight, silent but fierce. She gave up with a deep sigh, a moment later and gestured for him to continue. "Good. Thank you. It's in a week. They, I mean we are looking for a violinist."

She was facing away from him, looking down at the table. Completely impassive.

Leslie readied himself for what was to come, it was going to stir a reaction. He just hoped it wouldn't be too bad. "We're looking for a concertmaster."

"Forget it," her head had snapped so fast, he hadn't had the time to register. She brought her plate closer and resumed eating, body taut with tension.

Okay, well it could have been worse. She hadn't stabbed him with her fork, at least. He decided he could push on a little, "It's only an audition! Give it a shot, what do you have to lose, anyway?'

"I'm not even going to answer this question," Isis retorted, still refusing to look back. "Wait, no," she turned to him with a glare. "You know what? If it wasn't for your little sister, I'd have crippled you by now."

"Thanks," he straightened, just as annoyed as her now. "Really appreciate it," after a steadying breath to cool down, Leslie continued, "I stand by my point, it's only an audition. No commitment."

She didn't like commitment, that he knew. He knew all too well. Commitment was pointless. It overcomplicated things, she'd said many times.

"Do you even know since when I haven't played?" saying this meant her defenses were cracking, chipping away a little.

 _Good._ "You play every day, I can see it on your hands," he gestured at them to prove his point.

Not only was she playing every day, but the third drawer of her nightstand was overflowing with music sheets and scorebooks, he knew. And she knew that he knew.

"With an orchestra, dumbass!" well, that he didn't know. Mostly because Isis never revealed this little tidbit. "I was twenty, the last time," she said, looking away for a second or two. "That's almost five years ago."

"Yeah bu—"

"Listen," she cut him softly before caressing his arm. "I appreciate what you're trying to do, I really, really do. But there's a huge difference between playing for yourself and being part of an orchestra. Let alone a concertmaster; you know it."

"That's bullshit," Leslie blurted, she was already opening her mouth to argue back. He didn't let her. "All I hear now is you finding excuses; 'oh it's been too long', 'oh, it's different with an orchestra'. I mean, come on!"

"Leslie…"

"No," he shook his head, "You listen," and put his hand on her shoulder. "Do you even hear yourself? What is it? You think no one deserves to hear you play?" Isis squinted at him but said nothing. "Do you remember when I got hired?" he asked, softer. "You helped me, remember?" Isis nodded, and looked down. "What did we play?" she gave him a pointed look. Was he serious? "Come on" there was a small smile on his face. "Humor me, what was it?"

"Sibelius' concerto," she mumbled.

"Right, Sibelius," he nodded. "Remember how easy it was for you? Because I do."

They had spent a whole afternoon and the better part of the night practicing, Leslie had been shaking with nerves and pent-up energy while she tried to reign it down. When his fingers threatened to give up on him, the man had decided to take a break, sitting down on the couch while she stood nearby, reviewing the sheet music. Drowsiness overcame, making him nap until the soft strokes of her violin woke him up.

She played the whole movement, back to him, deft fingers moving from vibrato to vibrato with disconcerting ease. Leslie hadn't said anything until she was done and turned around to see him fully awake, in awe of what he had just heard. She had been so beautiful then, face shining with exertion, exhausted but so, so happy.

The woman shrugged. It was nothing special, Leslie was making a mountain out of it, when it really wasn't.

"You are passionate," he declared solemnly. "It's in you, so don't lie. Don't lie to me and stop lying to yourself. Because you know what?" admitting it wasn't easy, Leslie hoped she would appreciate his honesty. "My audition the following day? It was nothing compared to your playing. Nada. A crapfest. And yet they still hired me. Can you imagine if it had been you, instead?"

It was rhetorical, she didn't need to answer. Isis mulled it over for a bit, alternating between a frown and staring at her hands. She… she could do it.

_No, you can't._

There was the voice of reason again, the one stifling each and every attempt at reconnecting with the world she had left years ago.

"I'll think about it," she finally blurted before she could talk herself out of it again.

Leslie made a sound of agreement, reaching to squeeze her hand. "That's all I'm asking for."

He knew she wouldn't have said yes. She was considering the possibility. It was already better than nothing, they were halfway there.

* * *

_Ow._

Shizuma winced, unconsciously hunching over in a futile attempt to protect her ears that were threatening to bleed. The violinist kept on slaughtering Handel – reinterpreting, he'd said. Deconstructing. She had kept her face in check, otherwise her eyes would have rolled so far back, she'd have seen yesterday. What was it with hipster musicians and their quirk with deconstructing? What was it?

Apparently, it meant killing Handel a second time and calling it a day.

His violin was shaking violently with every stroke, face contorted in a grimace that made him look more constipated than focused, eyebrow wiggling with each off-tune note. It was painful to watch, really. Not as painful as it was to listen to.

But Shizuma was a pro.

So, she kept playing alongside the oddball, gritting her teeth and breathing deep.

When Philip had talked about it, the free entrance day seemed like a good idea. On the paper. They had both miscalculated, naively thinking only people who knew how to handle an instrument would show up. He had apologized profusely, bringing her chocolate and homebrewed coffee from a nearby place to make up for the disaster. She didn't blame him at all, she had said as much. The attention was touching, nevertheless.

Thankfully this violinist was the last on the list. She would meet with Philip tomorrow and discuss potential candidates; which had been narrowed to one. A woman who had come yesterday, for the student auditions. Marvelous technique, good music. Elegant, definitely a Royal College graduate, a top student.

There had just been a little… something. Shizuma hadn't been able to put her finger on it. A lack of…? It had been the best interpretation, and by far.

But… something.

They would have to work on it. Closely. Very close. Very, very close.

Shizuma smirked before wincing again as her ears gave her a reality check. First things first, this man had to go. She wasn't going sit through any his 'deconstruction' any longer, manners be damned.

"I think we will stop here," spoke above the music, turning around on the bench to face him.

He snapped out of his bubble in a violent shake, finishing with a final off-key stroke that sounded like a dying duck.

Shizuma closed her eyes for a second, this was the last of it. Honestly, she didn't care if she came off as rude. He had endangered her ears, he deserved every bit of her ire. Especially when she remarked how he was deliberately taking his time to pack, despite her standing up and gathering her things.

"So," he cleared his throat. "How did you find it? I thought meshing first and third movement was a brilliant way to bring out the singularity of the piece and…"

And self-complimenting your botched interpretation wasn't going to work. Just how delusional was this man? She tuned out his diatribe and put on her coat. "… And with that said, am I hired?"

Shizuma blinked.  _The nerve…_  The nerve! "We will call you back."

"Oh," there was a smile threatening to show on his face until he remembered he hadn't given his contact info. "Uh…"

Shizuma gave him a look, daring the man to say anything more. She wasn't in the mood, her head was throbbing, her ears buzzing uncomfortably and her stomach begging for food. He sighed, dejected and slumping his way out of the room with one last pleading glance that she promptly ignored.

Making sure to turn all the lights off before leaving, Shizuma took the time to check her phone. Nagisa had texted seven times. One to ask if she was in the mood for something special for dinner, four others to argue with herself about it, the sixth was her finally settling on a decision, and the last one was a picture of what she had come up with.

Maybe it was because of the lighting, but the dish did look… hm.

Nagisa made wonderful pastries, which never failed to confuse Shizuma. Baking required more precision than cooking; and somehow the redhead was completely inept at it while mastering the other. She still tried, though.

Shizuma was debating on whether she should grab a quick bite before heading home or just go and hope there would be dessert, when she stopped dead on her tracks, a few meters away from her car.

She could have sworn the freezing wind was carrying music.

She stayed still for couple of seconds, ears focused, and eyes closed. Nothing. Shizuma shook her head, phantom notes were to be expected. Especially since she had spent the better part of her day listening to music. Keys were in her hand, ready to unlock the car, when she heard it again, louder this time.

Shizuma turned around, squinting at the building. Was someone still in there at this hour? She checked the windows to see if any of them was open; her ears were keen, but not to the point of hearing through tick walls at a distance. She closed her eyes again, slowing her breathing and trying to filter through the city white noise.

The wind whispered a few more notes.

 _Ah-ah!_ She turned her body to the left, with a victorious grin. "There you are…" she muttered, following the music.

It wasn't an easy feat, every time she thought she had tracked it, it would stop abruptly, forcing her to stand still and focus on finding it again. It was testing her skills, challenging her.

She loved it every second of it.

It took a little bit of time, but Shizuma finally managed to find and walk in the right direction. It still stopped and started again, but she could hear it clearly. A violin.

As she inched closer to the source, the crying and pleading notes of Schubert's Serenade poured out of the instrument. A few more steps and she saw someone standing further ahead. Back to her, facing the wind as they played slow and melancholy.

_That's why I could hear it._

Shizuma didn't move; she couldn't. The anguish carried by the notes was overwhelming, it literally pinned her to the spot, knotting her insides and clenching at her heart with each stroke of the bow. It became difficult to even breathe, yet she couldn't look away. She didn't want to.

The music came to another abrupt stop, followed by a curse.

 _That voice…_  Shizuma blinked; she had heard it, not long ago. Her feet moved on their own accord, surprising the other person who turned around with a frozen, startled gasp.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did research for this fiction but let me preface this chapter by stating it isn't totally accurate, my knowledge remains pretty basic on the subject.

* * *

" _It's only an audition!_ _Give it a shot, what do you have to lose, anyway?"_

The room was dark and engulfed in silence, yet here she was, wide awake, staring at the ceiling for longer than she would like to admit. Three times she had tried to will herself to sleep, but nope. As soon as her mind would finally drift away, thoughts would come, circling back to drag her awake. A mental game of hide-and-seek.

Isis finally gave up, sighed and moved to lean on the bed’s headboard. “Damn you, Leslie,” her hand reached blindly for the lamp on the nightstand. “Damn you.”

She blinked the black spots away, looking at the clock on the table. Friday, four am. Her night was officially over.

Great.

Four days. Four days of waking up at odd hours with no hopes of getting back to sleep, all of this because she had listened to Leslie. She was tired, unfocused and cranky at work because her mouth had worked faster than her brain and blurted the words that set her mind on fire. _I will think about it_. She could have said no, she could have said no and kicked him out. She could have said no, kicked him out and told him to forget her number, up to her very existence, then Isis would have carried on with her life as if nothing had happened.

But of course not. Because; I will think about it meant she left the door open to an audition she… she...

_Argh._

To make matters worse, her violin was right there, in front of the bed on the dresser, as if to spite her even more. Following the shape of the case was the back of a naked woman, head to the left with a faraway look on her face. It had been drawn by hand, a present for her seventeenth birthday. A very expensive case Isis’ mother had decided to customize because the exterior was too bland, she’d said. She had turned the thing into a 3D black and white canvas that had made her teenage daughter stand out like a sore thumb at the conservatory.

Isis loved it.

Her mom, whom she hadn’t called in a very long time. Whoops. The woman tsked at herself while grabbing the phone to do just that. It answered after the fourth ring, sleepy and groggy:

" _You've got five seconds to tell me exactly why I shouldn’t hang up."_

Whoops x2. She bit her lip; of course, it was four in the morning.

“I’m your daughter?”  knowing her mother, it could be a justification to hang up, actually.

" _Which one?"_  the sleepiness was already fading away, she could hear it.

"Come on, you know who," the only one stupid enough to call at the crack of dawn, that’s who.

" _Excuse me?"_

 "Isis."

" _Ah! Finally,"_ there was a quiet chuckle on the other side of the line. _“You know what time it is, sweetheart?”_

She sighed, she knew all too well, the clock kept winking at her with its obnoxious dots. "I know, I’m sorry. Can't sleep."

" _I can try to sing a lullaby if you’d like?”_  her mother cleared her throat. _“I’m warning you though, my singing abilities are... limited,”_ limited aka she was utterly tone-deaf. Being aware had just made her more self-conscious enough not to push her luck.

Isis smiled a little, playing with the hem of her top. "No, I... I just wanted to hear your voice. I miss you."

" _You do?"_ she could picture her smiling, already.  _"Then get yourself on a plane and come visit."_ full of hope and joy. Maybe this time…

"I... no, Mom. I can't," she said quietly. Another infructuous attempt.

" _Ah,"_  the voice breathed.  _"Can’t say I didn’t try at least."_  there was that laugh again, and then silence for a little bit.  _"Tell me sweetheart, what is bothering you? Boy problems? What was his name… Sandy?”_

Isis puffed. “Leslie. It’s Leslie. And no, it’s not him,” where did that even come from?

 _“My, my”_ her mother took on a playful tone. “ _Replaced him? You know I wouldn’t blame you. He seemed a bit too earnest, in my opinion.”_

What.

“Mom. No,” she said pointedly, thinking over what had just been said. There was a frown on her face. “Wait, what do you mean too earnest?” Isis shook her head. “Never mind, it’s not…” this was _not_ the subject at all. “There’s an audition,” it came blurting out of her mouth like marbles. “A concertmaster audition.” there, she said it.  The first step to solving a problem is admitting you have a problem. Silence stretched long enough for her to freak out. “Mom?”

 _“That’s…”_ she heard fussing on the other side. _“That’s wonderful. Really Isis, it’s great news!”_ her voice was much clearer and louder now. She must have left the bedroom.

Isis tried to believe it, she really did. It worked for a good ten seconds, as her heartbeat increased and her eyes almost sparkled. Then, reality slapped her straight in the face with its icy claws. _No, you won’t._

"Mom, I can't do it."

" _Of course, you can,”_ she was still enthusiastic. “ _And you will do this audition,"_ but there was a tinge of scolding in her tone.

The woman shook her head.  "It's been too long,” again the bullshit excuses she had served to Leslie earlier this week. “They’re looking for a professional player. I haven't played with an orchestra since..." she let the sentence hang in the air, unable to finish it.

 _“I know,”_ her mother said, she understood. Then, softer: “ _You want to do it, though. Right?”_

She had always had this unnerving ability to see right through Isis. Always. It was annoying.

"No," the obvious lie made her wince. If she wasn’t even able to convince herself, there was no way her mom would buy it.

" _You want to,"_  as expected, she did not.  _"Or else you wouldn’t be bothering an old woman at four o'clock."_

_Touché._

Just a shot.

No commitment. Nothing to lose (except her dignity when this thing will inevitably come back to bit her in the ass because why would it not?). Just to see if she could do it, if she still had it in her.  And if not, then okay. Isis would carry on with her routine and definitely cross a line on her past. Easy peasy.

She wouldn’t get rid of the violin, though. Never.

" _Am I wrong?"_  her mother's voice drew her out of her musing.

Isis wanted to growl at herself. Again, the woman had been played like a fiddle. she looked away at the wall before admitting defeat. "You’re not wrong, Mom," because mom is never wrong. An established fact certified by the whole family.

" _Good,”_ she sounded very self-satisfied at that moment. _“Look at your violin case. Look at it."_  

Isis glanced at the case with a frown. "What about it?"

" _Take it and go play on the roof,"_ mom said very seriously.

In fact, it was so serious it made Isis snort and shake with laughter for a moment, until she realized the other wasn’t laughing along at all.  “Wait, you're not kidding?"

 _"Does it sound like I am?"_ again, on the verge of a good old motherly scolding.

To be fair she hadn’t used the ‘but Mooom’ line since she was fourteen and her mother told her there would be no more sleepovers at whatsherface’s until Isis did her chores.

"But Mo—"

 _"Don’t,”_ nipped right in the bud. _“No more excuses, you’ve run out of them,”_ she sighed theatrically. _“And let your poor old mother sleep.”_

Isis rolled her eyes and considered the proposition. It was freezing outside; but if she wanted to be halfway ready for the audition, she needed to practice. Neighbors would call the cops on her if she played inside right now, but the roof? It was a good place; silent and empty. Nobody ever used, and her playing would be swallowed by white noise. Perfect.

But it was still cold outside. Very much so.

" _Isis..."_  there was a tiny bit of irritation in her tone.

She clapped her tongue, making up her mind. "Fine, I will play."

" _Good,"_ her mother sighed in relief. _"Now let me sleep."_

Isis laughed, ready to say goodnight when something else popped up in her mind. She bit her lip, now was the time to ask, who knows? It was late, and if her mom was tired enough not to think things through, then maybe she would let it slip… maybe Isis would get her answer.

"Mom?"

" _Yeeesss?"_

"Who chose my name when I was born?" it was soft. Start slow and nonchalant.  Yes, maybe she would get to know the truth this time.

" _Me."_

Progress. Unfortunately, the woman was impatient and got ahead of herself. All her efforts came to an abrupt stop as soon as she blurted:

"Then, why the hell did you call me like tha—"

" _I want to sleep. I love you. Goodbye!"_ her mother cut her halfway, speaking as fast as she could before hanging up unexpectedly.

Isis froze with the phone still at her ear. “Love you too…”

Damn. She had been so close. _So_ close _._ _Not this time_.

The question had plagued her since childhood. It’s not that she hated it, not really. She had grown fond of it, even if it had taken a bit of time. Even if kids were not known to be the kindest and most understanding people in kindergarten. It got worse in middle school, but by then, her snark had developed, and she gave just as good as she got.  Still, her mother never said _why,_ never caved, no matter how many times Isis asked, begged or threatened. The tricks, the ploys and schemes; all infructuous attempts to unravel this mystery.

She shook her head. “I will get my answer before you die,” and dragged herself out of bed, walking to the closet to grab a warm hoodie.

The violin case drew her attention again, the woman in quiet contemplation, looking back with only one eye. Isis really did love it. There was a smile on her face when she grabbed the handle, taking the steps two by two, breath already fogging up as she got closer to the roof.

Ready for practice, like old times.

-0-

"Oh my God. Isis, I'm in love!" Ann barged in the break-room, turning around herself with arms wide open. The girl was sparkling.

Unfortunately, her overjoyed self was a little too hyper for the other woman. She woke up with a startle, jumping off the table, hitting her leg and crumbling down in a clumsy heap of limbs.

“Ow,” talk about a rough awakening.

"Were you asleep?" she was still sparkling, Isis needed to squint just to look at her.

"Nope, " the woman stood up and rubbed her knee. “Not at all,” she just liked to lie on uncomfortable plastic tables for no reason is all. No sleeping at work. No.

And Ann, not-so oblivious Ann, let it go. “Okay then,” she gestured in her general direction. “You look like crap, by the way,” Isis did not have the time to throw a well-placed retort before she spoke again. “I’m in love!” her face was beaming, eyes shining with emotions. “I’m in love, I’m telling you!” it was a sight.

Isis fought down her snort, “Okay, okay. Stop yelling and shut the door, already,” she fixed her hair and put her glasses on. A valiant attempt at hiding the eye bags that had claimed territory there. Isis plopped herself back on the table, sitting cross-legged on it while gesturing at the chair nearby. “Now, spill the beans.”

Ann floated back to the middle of the room, sitting down with a giant grin on her face. “I’m in lo—”

“We got that part,” the woman cut while waving her hand in a circular motion. “Who’s the victim?” she couldn’t help the snark this time.

Ann’s face was priceless, a mix of disbelief and annoyance as she scoffed, “Bitch.”

Isis winked at her. “I’m sorry,” that was a lie. “Who’s the lucky one who caught your heart…” she paused. “This time?”

The woman rolled her eyes. “Oh my God. Just shut up, okay? It’s serious business, this time.”

It was always serious business and ‘this time’ was always different from the ‘other times’. Isis knew it, but Ann, perseverant Ann, had managed to convince herself each new crush was The One. She fooled no one but herself, and the other woman had given up trying to make her see reason. To be young and blissfully pure, she really did not envy her.

(Deep down, she did. Kind of.)

“Fine, I believe you.” Isis didn’t but she smiled, a real one this time to make up for her cynical remarks. “Who is he?”

"She. Who is she," Ann corrected.

Isis gaped, frowned then blinked. This was a surprisingly unexpected turn of events. They had known each other for a long while. Ann always briefed her on her love life (whether prompted or not), and she had never hinted at being anything but straight. Isis went over their past discussions quickly, summoning the memories to see if she had missed anything. She came up empty and more puzzled than ever.

"You're not serious, are you?"

Ann smirked, giving her one and only hint: "Aphrodite."

"Aphro..." the image of a customer with eccentric hair and a penchant for flirting popped in her mind. The one she had entertained because she was bored. The very one who ate half of her snack after pretending she did not want it. “Oh, the pianist? You mean the pianist?”

"Pianist?” Ann blinked at her, processing the information. “How do you know she is a pianist? She told you she was a pianist? She didn't even tell me she was a pianist!"

Had she taken the time to think about it, Ann would have noticed the pianist had not spoken about herself at all during their cute little tea date. She had left her to lead the conversation, exactly like when Ann was tending to her, bouncing from topic to topic with ease while gently steering away from giving any personal information, dodging direct questions like a pro. Shizuma had played her.

But Ann knew none of it.

"She didn’t. I guessed that’s all,” the other woman was still pouting anyway. Isis sighed, leaving her legs to dangle off the table. “Are you sure you’re ‘in love’?” she made quotation marks with her fingers. “That’s quite a big statement.”

It was enough to make Ann sparkle all over again. “Yes!” all naïve bright eyes and toothy grin.

The reality-check was going to be rough. As an older (wiser?) figure, Isis ought to the pave the way. Gently.  She leaned forward, forearms on her knees. “You do realize she’s a woman, right?”

“I know that!” Ann, petulant Ann, said.

Isis nodded. Maybe gentle wasn’t going to cut it. “You realize you guys won’t be playing Scrabble while listening to Barry White’s crooning, right? Women fuck, Ann. They don’t giggle and roll around indefinitely in bed. They fuck,” when she made sure the other woman got her point, she went for the coup de grace. “And the pianist? She doesn’t want to play Scrabble with you, Ann.”

Seeing the light fade from her eyes as Isis soiled her pure soul was quite a sight to behold. She felt bad for half a second, but it was a necessary evil, she reasoned. Women like Shizuma knew exactly what they wanted and how to get it. And they just went for it, consequences be damned. They would tempt, they would lure, like nymphs, preying, seducing, playing. Nothing could stop them, except maybe falling for someone even more deceitful and end up being the prey.

It had taken one look. One look and Isis had known right away; people like her shouldn’t be messed with. Ann was an unsuspecting lamb and Shizuma a very, very hungry wolf.

“Trust me, call it off while you still can,” she said, jumping off the table to take her shift, leaving a crestfallen Ann in her wake.

 

-0-

The clock on the beige wall of the massage room showed half past six pm. She was already late. Isis poured more oil and kneaded her way up to the customer’s back gently. Leslie had told her the audition would end at seven, and she didn’t get off for another fifteen minutes.

_Damn it._

She should have called in sick, or asked someone to cover for her, but nope. If she had done that, then Isis would have been home alone with her thoughts, pacing around, her brain coming up with all kinds of scenarios on how the audition could go horribly wrong, and why did she even bother anyway? So, she figured she would go to work, take her mind off things and now Isis was late.

She circled her thumbs slowly on a particularly knotted shoulder blade. Heh. Turns out, she wasn’t the only ball of stress in the room, at least.

"God, this feels so good," the customer was melting.

"I bet it does," she said absentmindedly.

The woman under her hands shifted a little. A hint of anxiety that made her frown; "Isis?"

"Yes?"

"Could you, um…” she lifted her head from the table, looking at her with an awkward grimace of a smile and flushed cheeks. “You know…?”

Oh.

_Oh._

So, that’s what it was all about? Isis nodded. “Of course,” she moved a little, lowering the towel on the woman’s waist to make room for her fingers. She heard her sigh in relief, whispering a little ‘thank you’ as she turned into human goo on the table.

Running her fingertips on the woman’s lower back, Isis found the point she was looking for and started to massage it, switching from slow and smooth to harder motions. That particular point had _specific_ virtues; she had learned a long time ago. An odd trip to Thailand, an old lady spouting words she couldn’t make sense of, dragging her by the arm to her massage shop. When all had been said and done, Isis had sworn she wouldn’t leave until she was taught all its secrets. Later, way later, she had tried it on a (at first) reticent customer who ended up thanking her profusely the following day for being ‘the flame she needed to rekindle her marriage’.

Word to mouth was a wonderful thing. Word to mouth had made hordes of women, young, old and middle-aged, come running to the spa asking for that very special massage that would turn them into a thirsty sex machine. Better than going to a swingers club.

There was just a tiny problem though. One Isis realized a bit too late when her customer let out a guttural moan as her body convulsed.

A miscalculation and they would come undone right there and then. Whoops.

The tension and awkwardness in the room were so thick, she could almost taste them.

Isis cleared her throat. “I… I think I’m done, Ma’am.”

“Oh, um... o-okay, good. Good," the woman moved, covering herself modestly as she sat down on the table, looking at her dangling feet. Heat rose from her chest, coloring her cheeks in a pink hue. Shame. “I’m sorry,” she muttered, still avoiding eye-contact.

Isis was looking away, too. “It’s fine,” it was everything _but_ fine. “Don’t worry,” her smile was forced.

It was her fault, really. If she hadn’t been too far in her own head, psyching about being late for the audition, maybe she would have noticed her customer on the verge of orgasm, and maybe then she would have stopped in time, and _maybe,_ Isis could have made it to the audition.

She threw a look at the clock. Six-fifty.

Too late.  Way too late.

The customer got off the table, making her way out on wobbly legs as she apologized again and again. Once alone, Isis closed her eyes for a bit and took a deep breath. She began to clean everything, grabbing the towels to throw in the washing machine in the break room.

Opening her locker, she came eye to eye with the woman on her violin case. Staring at her with that one eye, a faraway look and a small smile. Isis sighed, head leaning on the locker door.

“Sorry.”

Wait.

Who was she kidding?

She was not sorry, she was _pissed._ No sleep for a week.  Hundreds of hours of stress, waddling through her insecurities, tuning out the incessant voice that tried to talk her out of it. Night practice on the roof, her fingers threatening to fall off because of the icy wind slapping her straight in the face. Isis had powered through it all.

Hell, she even called her mom, for God’s sake!

This could not be in vain, it couldn’t. She couldn't have done all of this for nothing. Hands balled into fists, Isis cursed under her breath, not bothering to change into her normal clothes as she grabbed her case and ran out of the spa at full speed.

Maybe.

Maybe if she was fast enough, she could catch the conductor and show him.

-0-

She was dying, all heavy breathing and trembling legs as she reached her destination. Her heart was hammering in her ribcage when she pushed the doors open. It wasn’t her first time coming, courtesy of Leslie, she had met a few musicians from the orchestra over the years. Isis jogged down the maze, finding her way quickly to the corridor that led to the audition room.  She was fifteen minutes late, with a bit of luck, the conductor might still be around. Maybe.

She was close, so close that she didn’t see the man rounding the corner, mumbling to himself. They slammed into each other violently, Isis’ legs giving up on her due to the earlier mad-dash. Her reflexes kicked in, shielding her instrument with her arms as she fell on her butt with a grunt.

“Fuck’s sake!” the man was on the floor too. Body sprawled awkwardly on his case. “Wear glasses! How did you _not_ see me?!”

Isis was going to tell him to shove it when she saw the mess. His case was broken, half open with the man’s knee holed into it. He followed her gaze, the color draining from his face. “Fuck…” the man moved, opening the case slowly to assess the damage. “Fuck,” he said again, lifting the cracked fingerboard for her to see. “I hope you’re proud of yourself!”

She stood up, looking apologetic and swallowing her retort. Broken instruments were the bane of all musicians, a violin like his looked like it cost thousands. It was fixable but at a price. Had it been hers, she would have done far worse than just be angry. Things that involved skin-peeling and other joyful things. The woman mumbled an apology and walked away.

“Where are you going?” he was still on the floor, when she didn’t answer, he spoke again. “If it’s for the audition, don’t bother. It’s done.”

Isis stopped and turned around to look at him. Was she really that late?

“The conductor they hired is an arse,” the man continued, closing his case and standing up. “Bloody woman interrupted me in the middle of my piece, can you believe it?” he dusted off his clothes. “She kicked me out.”

Isis blinked. A female conductor? That was certainly interesting. She knew the orchestra manager liked to break the codes but going as far as to seek a woman to conduct an orchestra was unexpected. Good unexpected.

There was a problem, though.

She had kicked the man out. She had interrupted _and_ kicked him out. Maybe he sucked. Maybe she had other pressing things to do and did not want to be late for dinner. Her eyes narrowed.  

Fine then. Very well.

Isis was not going to _bother_ her, either way. She had heard enough.

She made a U-turn, stomping her way out of the building under the flabbergasted stare of the man.  She was livid. Walking with purpose but completely aimless. That little spoiled imbecile. Isis had wasted literal hours over the week, stress eating at her life over _nothing._ Pep talks and practice, feeding herself on hopes that turned into mirages. It looked too good to be true, anyway. She should have known. She had been foolish enough to believe it.

Tomorrow, she was going to throttle Leslie.

But now, now Isis needed to release the pressure.  She walked farther away from the building, crouching down by a streetlamp to open her violin case. The light reflected on the instrument, shining in its blue velvet compartment. Slowly, carefully, she took it out, willing herself to calm down a little bit as she tuned it.

When she stood up, Isis turned around to face the wind and began to play. Raw, erratic and rough. No technique, just pure unpredictability. Channeling her anger through blunt strokes and spiccato.

"Fuck," she whispered, stopping the music. Her fingers were becoming rigid with the cold and wind blowing. She ignored it, playing louder. Harsher, sharper.

_"What is it? You think nobody should listen to your music?"_

Leslie's words echoed in her head. Arrogance, he had implied just as much. But who was the arrogant one here? She, who just wanted to play for herself, unshackled and unpressured? Or that pretentious jerk of a conductor who did not give musicians time to prove themselves before throwing them out?

Whatever, she wouldn’t want to work with someone like that anyway. Let alone _for_ them.

The music stopped again, Isis forced herself to take deep breaths. She was exhausted, pressure had loosened its claws on her shoulders leaving the woman completely drained and spent. She could feel the tears gathering at the back of her throat, could sense them coming up, but they did not fall when she opened her eyes. They never did. Not anymore.

After a moment to gather herself, she played again. Slow and painful, each stroke a cry for help, an ode to melancholy. Schubert's Serenade was not known to be a joyful piece, after all. It triggered memories. Some she cherished, others she would have liked to forget. Their faces vivid in her mind, the laughter, as she played louder, she could hear it, all over again. She could see _him_. 

Her little finger slipped, her bow stopping abruptly before she went off-key.

"Damn it," she cursed.

Footsteps coming from behind. She startled, turning around sharply to look at the stranger. Stranger who turned out to be no stranger at all, but Isis was too exhausted to look surprised. Aphrodite herself was standing there, eyes wide reaching out for her with a gloved hand.

Of all people, it had to be her. Isis let out a deep sigh, she was not in the mood to deal with the woman now. It was kind of fun last time, but now she just wanted to be alone. She shook her head and knelt on the ground to pack her instrument.

"Good evening." Shizuma engaged the conversation. The other woman was radiating with tension.

"Yeah, hello," yeesh. She could have said get out of my face, and it would have sounded exactly the same.

Shizuma winced, wondering for a second if it was really the same person she had met at the spa. Granted they were in a different setting and she did not have to play nice, but still. She had made a complete 180.

 "I heard you play," Shizuma continued, nevertheless. “You are good. Very good, in fact.”

Aka professional good. Aka, she had almost brought her to tears good.

"Thank you." Isis was still crouched down, pretending to be wholly absorbed by her case. Why didn’t she get the hint?  Silence stretched between them, Shizuma did not seem to want to leave anytime soon, perfectly content to just stand there and stare at her. The other woman decided to prompt things up, maybe it would make her piss off to wherever she had to be. "What are you doing here? Are your part of the orchestra?"

She couldn't be, Isis knew the pianist; it was a man.

"Yes." Shizuma responded. Miss Magic Hands was finally making a sentence with more than two words in a row. She was very proud of herself for this accomplishment. "I am the new conductor."

Isis' head snapped up, suddenly. "You are?"

"Yes?"

She scoffed, stood up and walked away without a word, leaving Shizuma to look at her dumbly.  What the…? Had she said something wrong? No one ever reacted that way with her before, it was just so… 

"Wait!"

"Get lost!" Isis spat.

Wow.

Rude.

Shizuma was frozen in place, trying to process what had just happened. What was up with this woman? All she had wanted was to compliment her music, maybe ask her to play again inside, and why not get her name, too? Instead, Shizuma was getting cussed left and right.

Very rude.

In other circumstances, she would have scoffed, left the other woman to her activities, and ignored her for the foreseeable future, because Shizuma had some self-respect, and nobody spoke to her like that. No one had the right to, except Miyuki. But Miyuki got a pass. Still, this woman was unnerving, and frustrating, which is exactly why she ran after her, grabbing the woman’s arm to turn her around. It was rude, but so was she, so Shizuma didn’t care.

“I told you to wai—” the rest of her sentence was swallowed at the sight of those glowering eyes. They had been blue last time, speckled with yellow gold. Now the gold was dominant, only stripped by blue.

_Breathtaking._

"Let go of my arm." Isis' voice snapped her out of her observations.

“No,” Shizuma grinned, absolutely undeterred. “Let’s go inside, I want to hear you play,” the other woman frowned at her. “You came for the audition, yes?”

“That’s it. I _came_ , and now I’m leaving,” she tried to free herself again, but the other had one hell of a grip on her forearm. Those damn pianist fingers were made of steel. “So, let go.”

Shooting herself in the foot again, Shizuma had just given her the occasion she was looking for, and what does she do? She lets pride get in the way. Stupid.

“Why would you listen to me, anyway?” Isis said. “Didn’t you throw the last guy out in the middle of his playing?”

The other woman looked confused for a moment. _What gu—Ah... ugh. Him._

“He made my ears buzz,” Shizuma explained. The echo was still uncomfortable, and she had Mister deconstruction to thank for that. “He slaughtered Handel. I love Handel and he slaughtered him. Could not stand it.”

Isis blinked at her, flabbergasted. Technically, it was a valid explanation, harsh for sure, but valid. This woman was no joke. Still, she wanted to make sure, just because. “That bad?”

“You have absolutely no idea,” Shizuma sighed, wincing a little as she recalled the audition.

Okay, well. “Can you let go of my arm, now?”

She shook her head. “Only if you come inside.”

Isis mulled over the proposition for a good fifteen seconds before nodding, eventually. Shizuma let go and they walked side by side in silence. She kept looking at the violinist fleetingly, in all discretion. Checking her out again, because of course. She had very nice lips… very kissable, too.

“Would you please stop?”

Not as discreet as she thought. “Stop what?” she asked innocently. Being caught red-handed didn’t mean she was going to admit it, though.

Isis narrowed her eyes, giving her a pointed look. How the hell had this woman charmed the pants off Ann? She was all cocky sexual energy. How was that attractive? “Just stop, please.”

It was the third or fourth time they had made eye contact and like the others, Isis hadn’t fallen under her spell. Shizuma pondered for a good minute if she had somehow lost her touch. That would be sad, very sad. She slowed down when they entered the building, leaving Isis to lead them to the audition room because half an hour was plenty enough for her brain to forget how to navigate the maze and get there.

“Don’t you have plans tonight?”

Why, so considerate, all of a sudden. It made Shizuma smile.

An audition could take time, depending on the piece chosen, so she understood. Nagisa and her attempt at dinner flashed in her mind. Heh. She had forgotten about that, too…

“No. But I appreciate your concern.”

And just like this, Nagisa was shoved under the rug. The best part being that Shizuma did not even need to make something up; a late audition with a gorgeous musician was a legitimate reason to come home late. She would tell her exactly that. Minus the gorgeous thing. Nagisa didn’t need to know.

Shizuma pushed the door open, turning the lights on while Isis walked and shook her hands to regain flexibility and blood circulation. It was a small but luminous room, optimized for music, soundproof walls and perfect echo. It reminded Isis of old times, the smell of music as much as the sound of it, the dust rising as bows rubbed against strings, deft hands and fingers running across fingerboards like they had a mind of their own. The winds and their clockwork breathing exercises before rehearsal. It made her smile a little. She put her case on the table closest to the piano and opened it to tune her violin again.

"Ready?" Shizuma spoke a couple of minutes later.

Isis nodded and waited. The conductor went and sat down at a table, right in front of her, a charming smile on her face. Shizuma waited. And waited. And waited some more until it became apparent the woman had no intention to begin.

“What is the matter?” her eyebrow rose.

Isis pointed at the piano with her bow. “An accompaniment, maybe?”

Her eyes squinted. Was she serious? “You don’t need it,” honest. It _was_ a compliment, in her book.

“I think I do,” the other insisted.

“You don’t.”

“I do.”

Were they going to play this game again? Why did she need to be so stubborn, she had played without only twenty minutes ago! Isis did not let go and they engaged in a staring war until Shizuma complied with a sigh, removing her coat and stomping to the piano while biting her tongue. This woman was literally the physical manifestation of a headache, she’d better deliver or Shizuma was going to trash her bad.

The conductor turned around the bench when she was settled. “Schubert again?”

Isis shook her head. “Paganini, Caprice 24.”

Well, that was daring, if anything.

Daring and stupidly dumb if she messed it up. But Isis had practiced on the roof by minus whatever degrees, she was war-ready. Shizuma had no knowledge of this, though, which is why she gaped at her. She noticed Isis’ shaking hands a second later and generously decided to give her an out.

“Are you sure?” she didn’t mind if they played something else. That was big. Maybe too big, even for her.

Hands stopped their shaking and Isis nodded. “Positive.”

Shizuma acquiesced, turning around on the bench to face the piano, fingers at the ready. “Start whenever you want.”

Violin positioned under her chin, the woman closed her eyes and took three deep breaths. There was no one in here with them, no public, no other musicians. Nobody to listen but Shizuma, who would be too busy to look, anyway. Nothing to freak out about. She got this. She could do it.

She got this.

The first couple of notes were hesitant, but Isis quickly gained confidence and played frankly.

Amazingly accurate. Fast, but not rushed, each note hit Shizuma’s ears like arrows, inviting her to play along. Her fingers sauntered over the keys, focused, like an anchor while she let the violin lead, keeping a close ear on her playing.

A natural harmony settled between the instruments as they reached the pinnacle of the piece. Shizuma’s jaw clenched in anticipation. She threw a look behind her, Isis was getting ready, letting her bow hand relax. Eyes focused on the fingerboard when her digits danced over it, pinching the strings in a flawless pizzicato, enhanced by sharp and calculated strokes of the bow.

Shizuma stopped playing altogether and turned around, gawking at the woman. That witch had just achieved a one-handed set of pizzicato like it was a simple warm-up exercise, and not something that had sent violinists into violent crying meltdowns for two centuries.

_Remarkable._

Brow creased in concentration, eyes narrowed, the woman was glowing. Isis had just _aced_ it and she knew. She allowed herself a small smirk, forgetting about the other woman who was not playing anymore. She was preparing for the finale, little, ring and middle fingers taking their place over the strings, ready to unleash their strength.

Until the bow slipped, destroying the quasi-perfect harmony, making it fall apart like a house of cards.

Isis snapped out of her trance, utterly confused and disoriented. She glanced at the other woman who looked just as shell-shocked.

Was there a word for cockblocked but for music? Because that was exactly how Shizuma felt right now. She was just getting _there_ , for God’s sake!

They both glared at the ringing, buzzing creamy coat, innocently wrapped on a chair. Shizuma winced, shaking her head and giving a quick apology. She had forgotten to turn her phone off when they started. She grabbed it, ready to tear a new one to the caller when she realized it was Nagisa.

Sweet Nagisa had just denied her a musical orgasm. The irony made her snort quietly.

“Give me a moment, please,” she said to Isis, walking further away to take the call with a grimace on her face.

The violinist shook her head, walking to the table to pack her instrument. She was in a weird mood, a foggy haze, feeling drained and full of energy at the same time. Exhausted but very alert. There was a familiar lump in her stomach, and her heart was beating too fast. It was going to take her a bit of time to calm down.

“My apologies,” Shizuma came back a few minutes later. “It was—”

“Your girlfriend,” Isis cut, still busy with her case. “Wondering if you were coming home soon because dinner is getting cold,” she closed the case, narrowing her eyes when she glanced at the woman. “Nice lie, by the way.”

Shizuma gawked at her, torn between utter disbelief, amazement and feeling a little creeped out all the same. _How…_ she’d been standing on the other side of the room!

“I hear a lot of things,” Isis explained with a shrug.

 _Clearly too much_ , Shizuma wanted to add.

She slung the case on her shoulder, ready to walk out when the conductor stopped her with a hand on her arm.

“Give me your resume, so I can contact you.”

There.

That was it. Isis knew she had forgotten something the moment she had stepped out of the front door this morning. It had bothered her all day, she had not been able to put her finger on it until now. It’s like the Universe and all forces on Earth had conspired to make her life a living nightmare ever since she had made her mind about doing this audition.

Isis made a noise, scratching her cheek. “Forgot it, sorry.”

Shizuma frowned, wetting her lips. Such nonchalance, was it an act? She hoped it was, because it would make things terribly hard if they were to work together. She needed someone serious, not a wannabee hothead who would shrug everything off. No amount of talent or skill was going to cut it.

“How am I supposed to contact you, then?”

There was a small pause as the violinist mulled over the question. “Leslie,” she finally answered. “When you decide, tell it to Leslie.”

How was she supposed to know who this Leslie was? Shizuma’s head tilted, her face said it all.

Isis looked just as confused; hadn’t the conductor been working with the musicians for two weeks already? “He…” she cleared her throat. “He’s part of the orchestra?”

Oh.

_Oh._

Her dimple fluttered when she smiled. “First violin. Blonde bloke who drives a motorcycle. Look for a helmet.”

"Fine," Shizuma said, feeling suddenly very petulant. She was still in the process of finding her way in the maze, okay? These things took time, the musicians’ names would come later. Besides, it was perfectly acceptable to refer to them as flutist number three and viola number two in her book.

Isis left with a goodbye, leaving the conductor to her thoughts as she turned off the lights and closed everything behind her. A few meters away from her car, Shizuma stopped dead in her tracks again.

There was no music this time.

She just remembered the violinist hadn’t given her a name. Again.

* * *

 

Slow sex was the secret to keep Nagisa silent. So, when Shizuma did not want to talk, she usually initiated. Tonight was no exception. The woman needed to think, so she knew exactly what to do. 

It was a win-win situation really. She got to reflect peacefully on her own, Nagisa was getting some and they could pretend they had absolutely no issues and their relationship wasn’t agonizingly dull and on the verge of crumbling.

See? Win-win.

Shizuma was deliberately slow, keeping the same steady pace as her mind wandered away. The fallacy was in place, the illusion almost perfect, as long as nobody (Nagisa) took a closer look. Truth was, the times when she was in it with her were long gone. It had stung the first time. Deeply. The realization had hit Shizuma like a bag of cold hard bricks. She had cried afterwards, giving one of the many half-assed excuses she always did when a worried Nagisa started asking questions.

It was a long time ago, though.

Now, now it was just a means to an end. Her mind replayed the events of earlier. Finding that violinist playing in the middle of nowhere, the notes carrying so much emotion, the rawness of the piece. Shubert had been fitting, really, but the feelings behind an interpretation couldn’t be faked. Shizuma would have seen right through it. There had been no artifice, just pure anguish, laid bare for her to listen to.

Nobody could fake their feelings like that. Not even her.

Nagisa’s eyes were closed when Shizuma looked at her. She blinked the sadness away, dropping a kiss on her parted lips before nibbling her neck gently. If she hid it well enough, Nagisa wouldn’t see it. She shook her head, swallowing the lump in her throat.

Her mind fled again, to the audition, this time, when they played together. When she stopped to listen. The woman sensed it; the talent. Raw talent. Untamed and pure talent. The violinist had it in her. With three thick layers of ‘IDGAF’ and a nonchalance bordering on smug.

Shizuma’s lips pursed, she frowned, fingers thrusting a wee bit harder.

Nagisa didn’t seem to mind.

What a frustrating woman. That wouldn’t do. Even if they got along artistically, even if they were on the same page when they played, Shizuma needed to make sure they could _work_. That the woman could work under her.

Under. Her.

A very small, very immature part of herself snickered at the thought. She tried to hide it in a coughing sigh. Nagisa moved beneath her, but the woman was quick to kiss her cheek and reassure her that everything was fine. Nagisa was close, she felt it.

_What to do?_

There was that other violinist too… but.

But she didn’t have _it,_ unlike whatshername.

The thing Shizuma had been looking for. It wasn’t just a question of technique or execution, there was something more. It wasn’t something that could be taught though… maybe it could be worked on, but right now they did not have much time until their first performance.

So, in short Shizuma had to choose between a piece of white bread that could potentially turn into something nice, and a migraine.

A good-looking migraine though.

_Argh._

Frustration made her slow down a little. Nagisa groaned meekly, and Shizuma crashed back to reality. Her body shifted a little, angling herself differently before moving again. Nagisa’s hips followed the movement, chasing down her fingers with increased fervor and semi-loud whimpers.

The epiphany came soon after that and made Shizuma mentally pump her fist in the air.

She didn’t have to choose, did she? She could let the orchestra do it for her.

_Yes!_

It was the best option, really. All of them would be working closely together, the concertmaster would have to get along with everyone. And if that violinist-slash-spa-employee gave them a headache too, then so be it. She would be out, and Shizuma would have no control over it. Majority rules.

(She wouldn’t mind consoling her though. Not at all.)

All she needed to do now was organize another audition with those two musicians. Have the orchestra in the room with her and leave the decision up to vote.

Nagisa’s eyes snapped open, looking straight up at her. They were clouded by lust, half-lidded, the pupils so blown they looked almost black. For a second, Shizuma feared she had seen right through her smoke and mirrors. Her face scrunched up, head falling back into the pillow, exposing her neck as she arched her body. Shizuma took it as her cue to hid again, licking a burning path from Nagisa’s jawline to the dip of her throat where she felt the vibrations of her moans through her lips.

She couldn’t let Nagisa see her like that.  She would know right away. The woman kept her face hidden from view, even after her girlfriend came. Her eyes remained shut, even when those gentle lips sought hers, mellow and pliant, whispering softly to her.  She refused to look at Nagisa’s face, finding solace in the hollow of her neck when they were done.

Shizuma wanted to weep.

-0-

_Ah, no._

Definitely not, it was not working. The frown on her face was proof enough.

"Stop," she said, her voice laced with the underlying fatigue of the day. Something was out.

It was not their first practice together (minus a concertmaster), yet they were still holding back. She had asked them not to, but it was like screaming into a void. The point of this practice was to figure out how they worked together, so she would have a proper idea on how to lead them. Philip had told her they wouldn’t be easy, she had clearly underestimated his statement.

Or overestimated her abilities, maybe.

Shizuma frowned at the thought; it couldn’t be.

They were holding back because she impressed them.

_Typical._

She couldn’t have that now that she was a permanent conductor. It was one thing to make someone turn into a blushing stuttering mess who would be hesitant to play frankly when you saw them for a few weeks, but it became a different beast when you had to work alongside them for years.

_Argh._

They wouldn’t be able to move past this so long as they did not have a concertmaster.

Shizuma’s shoulders sagged a little at the realization. “We will stop here for today,” she still offered them a dazzling smile “Good work,” the lie came out with disconcerting ease.

Lying or not, it did not prevent the musicians from sighing in relief and nodding. She spotted a blonde violinist standing up while he spoke with another guy. Shizuma took the time to look at them for a bit before walking up to him. The man he was talking to gasped, murmuring under his breath before leaving the other alone and utterly confused. He turned around abruptly, meeting her piercing stare.

“Uh… Miss Hanazono,” he blinked at her.

“Leslie, right?”

“Yes?” there was no flushed cheeks and no stuttering. Just plain surprise because she had only been referring to the musicians as tuba number two and clarinet number three for the past two weeks. Hell, she had called up violin one just half an hour ago.

“Good,” she smiled at him. “I would like to get in touch with someone,” his frown deepened as she spoke. “A violinist who came for the concertmaster’s audition, a couple of days ago. I was told you knew her.”

Confusion turned into bewilderment. His eyes sparkled with delighted surprise. “Isis came? For real?” they hadn’t broached the subject since that lunch, weeks ago. Hell, he was with her yesterday and she hadn’t talked about it at all.

Shizuma blinked. “I… Isis?”

So, that was her name? Interesting.

Leslie was still beaming, launching into a long tirade of her abilities and how she could be a valuable addition to the orchestra. Shizuma tuned him out until he started asking questions about the audition.

“How was it? What did she play? What did you think? Did you play together?”

She cleared her throat again, gesturing for him to tone his stanning down a little. What was up with him? Did he… was he her husband, by any chance? A quick glance at his bare finger answered her question. The idiot in love with the bride maybe? What a sad, sad fate. Kind of like Tamao's.

“Please,” she said, halting his speech. “Could you tell her I would like set up a meeting, if possible?”

Leslie gave her a vigorous nod, still beaming. “I will, Miss Hanazono.”

“Shizuma,” she corrected. “Call me Shizuma, please,” she gave him a bright smile. “It’s time for us to become a real team.”

And for her to learn all their names. She never bothered before, it did not make sense to learn a hundred different names every time she was to lead an orchestra. It was a waste of her precious time.

 _Ah-ha!_ She caught it when Leslie blushed. It meant she had not lost her touch. Isis was just… annoyingly asexual. That’s it.

“And as such,” the conductor went on, turning to the side to look at the orchestra, “You will all help me choose our new concertmaster,” she caught their attention, surprised musicians looked back at her. “I have selected two violinists, I want you to have a say on who ends up joining us.”

White bread vs. Migraine, the bets were on.

They all cheered along, it was rare enough for musicians to have any weight in the hiring process when it came to new recruits.

Shizuma left them a couple of minutes later. She found Philip in his office, sitting behind the oversized desk. The stack of papers on it did not look like it was diminishing any time soon. He was a busy man, his office said as much. However, he was not radiating stress, and she found a sense of peace, watching him work from the threshold.

“Would you like to come in or do you prefer to stare from the door? I can assure you I’m even more dashing from up close, Shizuma,” he looked up from a paper, a gentle smile on his lips.

Shizuma chuckled quietly, walking in to take a seat. “I’m sure,” her eyes inadvertently drifted to the candy box on the side of his desk. “I wanted to see you about the concertmaster’s position. I think we—thank you, Philip,” he grinned, giving her a piece of chocolate before nodding to let her continue. “We have two potential concertmasters,” she finished and popped the candy in her mouth.

“Two?” he leaned back, scratching his chin. “You told me you had kept only one resume with you.”

She nodded, taking the time to finish her food before replying. “Yes. But someone else came in for the audition. Someone interesting.”

Aka _interesting._

The subtle change in her demeanor and her small smile as she spoke did not go unnoticed. Philip looked at her knowingly. “I see. And who might she be?” he played along, not wanting to pry too much.

“I only know her name,” Shizuma answered. “Isis?” it tingled when she said it out loud.

Meaning it would feel just right whispering that name as she had the girl screaming underneath her in the throes of passion. Just right. Perfectly right.

Shizuma was so far in her little lubricous bubble that she did not notice Philip’s shocked expression. Not right away. He was gaping at her, leaning forward on his seat. “She came? Isis came for the audition?”

The woman nodded, perplexed by his sudden change. “Yes?”

He hummed, pausing for a long while before talking again. “It’s surprising,” unexpected was more like it. She never expressed the desire to work with them before. “You were very lucky to have her play,” his eyes took on a gentle hue when Shizuma looked at him with confusion. “I know her,” he explained. “I’ve never heard her play in front of people, though the young man… Leslie? He never ceases to praise her.”

“So, I heard,” she sighed and took another candy. Fanboy at his finest.

Philip nodded. “I caught her sneaking in once, trying to steal old scorebooks,” he chuckled at the memory. “She said they were too expensive in shops and promised she would give them back.”

Shizuma smiled despite herself. The woman had a point. Her mind drifted to her time at Miatre, when she was busy chasing and getting chased by the Sister… with Kaori. Her smile dropped a little. “I see.”

"You are right," he spoke. "She is talented. It would be a good thing to have her join the orchestra. As violinist concertmaster she could certainly bring the others up, but..."

When Philip looked at her, she knew where he was getting at. “We get along,” she said. “We played together, and we get along.”

Musically speaking, that is. Now if Isis could drop the attitude, maybe Shizuma could work something out. The thrill and the challenge would certainly be good motivators, though. She would give in, one day or another.

"If so, then I don't have any objection, do as you please. You are going to hire her, right?"

"Maybe,” she conceded with a sigh. “I decided to let the orchestra choose between the two violinists.”

Philip hummed again. Her decision was surprising, but not unexpected. The implications behind it made him smile proudly. “You’re creating a bond. Building team spirit,” Shizuma nodded. “Wise decision,” he acquiesced, looking suddenly apologetic. “I know they are still a little… um…”

“Frightened?” she supplied. “Impressed?”

“Sort of yes,” he agreed. “Neither of us ever expected you would join us. I think they need a little bit of time to get used to....” he trailed off, searching for the right word.

"Get used to me?" Philip snapped his fingers in approbation. "I think it's because of my hair," Shizuma deadpanned. "It's always the hair."

It _was_ always the hair.

Philip snorted, then guffawed when she laughed along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Women fuck. This line is dedicated to godawful Elena Undone, and all the other insults to writing and movie-making turds I sat through in my late teens/early twenties. I’d rather have a tasteful fade to black (hello, San Junipero) than 14 minutes of awkward making out and rolling around. With that said, thank you to Disobedience and The Handmaiden for showing that women do, in fact, have sex. 
> 
> Vocabulary:  
> One handed-pizzicato are no joke. Pizzicato is a technique that basically consists in pinching the violin strings with the hand, kind of like a guitar. It’s usually performed with the bow hand, BUT Paganini invented the one-handed pizzicato, which is performed with the hand holding the fingerboard. It is said Caprice 24 was a warm-up exercise, but I’m not sure. Anyway, it is HARD. Look up Jaschza Heifetz ‘s Caprice 24 on Youtube to give you an idea of what it’s like.

**Author's Note:**

> Few words of vocab:
> 
> Spassiba means thank you in Russian, nié za chto is you're welcome.
> 
> A concertmaster is the leader of the first violin section of an orchestra. Their job is to play solo parts (if there's no guest musicians), as well as leading the orchestra in tuning their instruments, among other things. It's generally a requirement that the concertmaster be the most skilled musician in a section, learning quickly, counting and observing the conductor for the rest of the section to follow. Unofficially, they are kind of the bridge between a conductor and an orchestra, so they need to get along with everyone.


End file.
